


Sharp As a Double Edged Sword

by rubrikate



Series: Temporis [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 84,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubrikate/pseuds/rubrikate
Summary: I had once found myself asking, "why was Papa II considered a 'wounded, bitter old man' by TF?" So this is my answer to that question. Please watch the dates, as they tend to jump around, but they do stay cohesive to tell their own story.This is the second story in the Temporis series.





	1. To Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratsmacabre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratsmacabre/gifts).



_Sweden_

_January 25th 1950_

_4:05 PM_

 

       “Where are we going?” Her small voice seemed to echo through the silent cab. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, scratching his arm idly, his gaze transfixed through the window, staring out into the darkness. The sun had only just disappeared over the horizon and was still clinging to the trees and the edges of the still visible world. He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment as he fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket; trying desperately to buy himself some time to find an appropriate answer, an answer that would suffice for a four year old.

       “We’re going to church.” His voice was tight and terse, and brokered no discussion. She didn’t look at him when he spoke and instead continued to watch out the window as the countryside passed by in the growing darkness: the shapes of trees and shrubs appearing before the headlights of the car but for only a moment only to disappear into the forgotten night once more. He drew in a breath and swallowed hard, closing his eyes, trying to beat back the tears threatening to spill. He knew he had to keep up his composure. Opening his eyes, he found himself watching her closely, his vision locked on her frail form: how thin she was, feeble, her little cold and pale hands clasped together in her lap tightly, clinging to one another as though they were the last thing in the world she had. Her ankles were crossed delicately and the only cloth showing was her little frilly white cotton socks over the tops of her beaten and scuffed up shoes.

       He reached out to her for a moment, his hand lingering in the space between them; his fingers flexing in mid air, only to fall to the empty seat with a soft _thud_. His mouth fell open, as though he wanted to tell her everything: explain why this was happening, where they were going, why he had to do this, why he had no _choice_. But no, he knew that wouldn’t do and he turned away from her, pulling his hands into his lap. He stared out the window just as she was: watching the countryside go by in the pitch blackness, the city of Stockholm having long been left behind them.

       The cab began to slow, the headlights grazing two paths diverged in the trees. The driver looked at a fork in the road. One led further into the countryside, towards the vague pinkish glow of a town on the horizon, and the other went down a pitch black gravel and stone road with many overhanging trees and overgrown shrubs: there were no lights to be seen that way. That path had an iron arch over it, covered in thick ivy that seemed it had been forgotten all together. The driver stopped the car and turned to the man in the backseat, “This doesn’t look like any way to any church. You sure about this?” The cab driver’s gaze grazed over the little girl with deep, dark red hair, who stared endlessly out the window; he furrowed his brow in mild concern. But the man in the backseat swallowed audibly, his voice taught but warbled as he pointed to the right, down the gravel driveway. The cab driver squinted, “You sure, man? I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s like a private road and it’s awfully late, I don’t want to surprise anyone, you know?” The cab driver stared at the man, unblinking, waiting for a response. The air in the vehicle felt as heavy as lead but the man in the backseat simply nodded and pressed his lips together tightly.

       “No, that’s the one. I’m sure of it. Don’t worry, we aren’t surprising anyone.” As he spoke his voice became softer and lower. The cab driver’s glance bounced between the man and the girl. He finally shrugged and shook his head: turning around, he pulled the wheel to the right, the tires of the cab bouncing harshly down onto the unpaved road. The sounds of gravel bouncing up and flicking off of the metal of the car were sudden and sharp, and the driver could be heard cursing under his breath; probably worried about the paint job and the undercarriage.

       “I don’t know man, this is pretty far off the beaten path,” the cab driver’s words were distant as he spoke. He was almost forced to yell due to the way the gravel sound carried throughout the car, “this is kind of worrying me. I mean, you know where we’re going? I’ve never even been out this far. Your fare is going to be crazy, dude.” He shook his head, his foot firmly on the gas pedal; his right hand gripping the steering wheel, his left running through his graying black hair. The man in the backseat said nothing. He watched the little girl sitting beside him. She was gripping her hands together in her lap, her knuckles white. She didn’t move and she didn’t speak. She quietly stared out the window and into the darkness. He realized then that he didn’t really know her; he didn’t know her interests or what she enjoyed, he didn’t know her favorite color or food and for a moment he thought about telling the cab driver to turn around. But a persistent voice in his head told him not to, it screamed at him to keep going: yelling at the top of its lungs that this was the right choice to make.

       He closed his eyes, clearing his throat before speaking, “We are expected and you will be paid.” The man from the backseat said stiffly, his eyes locked onto the cab drivers through the rear view mirror. The cab driver shook his head, as though being paid was not one of his chief concerns at that present time. He went back to being focused on the gravel road, the sound of the rocks tinkling against the vehicle became sharper and more pronounced as the vehicle sped up. The headlights grazed against the tight, and seemingly unkempt, shrubs that lined the road; the boughs of the overhanging trees blotting out the stars themselves. The only light was that of the headlights of the vehicle as it bounced off of what seemed to be only a moderately kept forest with a gravel path running through it. The headlights suddenly sprang forth from the path and opened up onto a large circular, unpaved, gravel driveway. The driver slowed down, leaning forward over his steering wheel and running an errant hand through his hair, his voice barely a whisper, “What the hell is this?”

       He pushed his foot back down on the gas pedal, the car lurching forward into the rotund driveway that circled an ornate stone fountain. The fountain looked as though it was cut from onyx and the figure in the middle was a man with broken wings, reaching up towards the heavens. The cab driver didn’t notice it, he was too concerned navigating around the wide berth of the driveway. As the cab came around the driveway a monstrously huge building came into view: the windows were lit up all over, from one wing to the next. It was almost four stories of lights and windows and beautifully draped curtains. Some of the beautiful stained glass windows went from the first story to the third, shadows playing behind them as people walked here and there inside the building.

       “What the hell _is_ this place?” The driver asked, but the man in the backseat did not design to answer. He was instead shuffling in his pockets, patting himself down all over, looking for the money to pay the cab driver with. As the cab pulled around the circular drive, it passed under a colossal, intimidating stone pavilion that had beautiful hand carved stone stairs leading down to the driveway. The stairs lead directly up to two huge dark stained wooden doors, each had beautiful and stunning intricate ornate carvings in them, though, in the dark it was hard to tell what they were exactly.

       “Don’t pull up to the main door, keep driving and go over there, to that door.” The man in the backseat pointed to the far wing. It was dark over there, save for one glowing orange light that dangled above a small wooden door, tucked away in an alcove. The car pulled up and the driver turned off the headlights, slamming the gear shift into park. He sighed, turning around in his seat, “This a one way trip?” The driver asked sternly, his eyes scanned the man cautiously. The man in the backseat was continuing to pat himself down, muttering to himself, pulling out every coin and piece of currency he could find. The driver sighed, waiting, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

       As the driver waited with the vehicle idling quietly and the man in the backseat desperately scrambling for any piece of money he had, a short stature woman emerged from the tucked away wooden door in the alcove. She was wearing an all black habit that stopped at her knees and her face was obscured by a veil. She approached the cab drivers window and knocked; he unrolled it just enough to speak through.

       “Yeah?” He said curtly.

       “This should be sufficient for the fare.” Her voice was gentle and smooth and assured. She had a wad of bills in her hand and was pushing it through the opening in the window, without question. The driver took it quickly, pulling it apart and counting it. He nodded and pocketed the money.

       “Yeah, that’s good,” he said to the woman as he rolled the window up and turned to the man in the backseat, “so this is a one way?” The man in the backseat nodded mutely. The cab driver unlocked the doors and the man got out, gesturing for the girl sitting next to him to follow. She hopped out and stood silently in the dark, hiding behind the man she’d arrived with. The cab driver turned the headlights of the vehicle back on and shifted the car into gear, it made a horrible noise as it lurched forward, back down the unassuming private gravel road it arrived on. In a matter of seconds, it was out of sight and out of ear shot. The woman, the man and the girl stood in the driveway: snow was falling.

       “We should get indoors,” the woman whispered, her voice urgent as she herded them both towards the wooden door she’d emerged from; the winter winds whipping at them sharply, the cold seeping through every fiber of clothing they wore. As they went inside they found the tight hallway was well lit but that there was no one else there, no one waiting to receive them and surely, no one waiting to take their coats. The woman shut the door behind them firmly. As she turned around she smiled and clapped her hands together.

       “Welcome to the Emeritus Church!” The woman bowed her head slightly. The man gave a weak, half-hearted smile, shrugging. He looped his arm around the shoulders of the girl he had brought with him, pulling her to the forefront.

       “Say hello,” he whispered urgently; the girl cast her eyes down to the ground, locking them on her own shoes.

       “Hello,” she whispered, her voice nothing more than a soft ripple of sound. She did not look up and shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

       “Well, please let us feed you, at least. We have a meal waiting for you with the other children, if you’d like, dear?” The woman said as she crouched down to be eye level with the girl; her voice was warm and soft and welcoming. The girl looked up at her with large green eyes. She bit her bottom lip, her hands shuffling in her pockets. She looked up at the man she’d arrived with. His face was gaunt, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes, but a forced smile pulled at his mouth.

       “Go on, go get a hot meal.” He said gently, his voice was a harsh whisper as he placed his hand on her shoulder. She nodded silently at him. The woman standing in front of them stood up abruptly and called out a name and from one of the side corridors another woman appeared, she too wore a habit and a knee length plain black dress. She had a warm smile on her face and she interlaced her fingers in front of her as she walked towards them. The first woman spoke.

       “This young lady needs a warm meal for the evening.” The second woman nodded and smiled at the girl, gesturing for her to follow. But the man took a step forward, his hand outstretched towards the girl; his fingers almost touching her shoulder. The girl turned and looked at him: her face was plain and her mouth was a straight line, her eyes were tired and cold. The man drew in a breath as though he were going to say something but stopped himself, letting his hand fall to his side. He smiled at her, a genuine warm smile, his eyes watering up as she gave him a small, be it begrudging, smile back. She turned away from him and in an instant she was gone down the hall with the other woman, following along behind her quietly, her footsteps silent on the stone floors; her shadow bouncing back and forth between the sconces on the walls. She was soon out of sight.

       The man let out a breath he’d been holding, he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. His hand came up and pressed his palms to his eyes, he sniffled. The woman he was with dropped her warm and comforting smile as soon as the girl and the other woman had disappeared around the corner. She spun around and faced the man sharply, her hands on her hips, her eyes accusatory and cold.

       “All the paperwork is ready, as you requested. All you have to do is sign.” She fished a scroll out of the sleeve of her over-sized habit and handed it to him, she even had a quill at the ready. It was filled with red ink, but the man didn’t think on that too much. Instead, he opened his mouth and shut it again abruptly, his eyes tearing up.

       “I’m sorry, I just,” he sighed, “I thought this would be for the best, you know? You saw how thin she was Marta! She looks sickly, ill, like,” Marta cut him off.

       “She looks like someone's been starving her, Stieg! Whose she been with? You? Did you starve your own child?” Her voice was tight and cold and cut straight to his core. He shook his head, tears now freely rolling down his cheeks.

       “No! I,” he grasped for words, “I went to get her from her mother and she was so gaunt and pale and she told me she was hungry! She said she hadn’t eaten in days.” He teared up, his thin cheeks turning pink as he spoke, “When she opened my fridge in my shitty apartment, she said, ‘Daddy, you have food in here’ and it broke my heart, Marta, it broke my fucking heart.” He couldn’t hold it back anymore and tears now freely ran down his face, he brushed them away quickly with his coat sleeve. Marta’s eyes softened, if only for a moment.

       “Stieg,” she rested a hand on his shoulder, “I know we parted ways many years ago and we walk very different paths now, but I promise you: she will be cared for here. No one will let her starve. No one will let her be cold. She will have a home, a permanent home. No more moving around dodging bill collectors, no more living on scraps. A permanent roof over her head, for the rest of her days.” Marta’s words were gentle and comforting, like a spring time afternoon. Stieg drew in a breath and looked at the scroll in his hands. He nodded firmly, taking the quill in his hand he hovered the tip of it over the line at the bottom of the contract. He hesitated.

       “Can I visit her? Can I see her ever again?” Marta looked up at him through long dark lashes, her lips in a straight, tight line. He sighed. He had his answer. He pushed the quill tip to the contract and signed his name, slowly, deliberately, methodically. He stared at the paper for a moment, watching his signature dry on the ancient vellum. He drew in a breath and sighed, rolling the scroll up slowly and handing it to Marta, who took it without a word, tucking it inside her habit once more.

       “It is done then.” She said quietly, “You are free to go Stieg. Your daughter will be well cared for, this I promise you, on my honor as a Sister of Sin.” He nodded his head, numbly, mutely, and began to turn around for the door. Marta stopped him, her hand on his forearm.

       “Do you want me to call you a car? Someone to drive you back to the city, it’s very cold out tonight, Stieg.” Her eyes held that same warmth they’d once had for him, and for a moment he was transported back in time, back to when he was younger and stronger and not riddled with an addiction he could no longer fight. He shook his head.

       “No Marta, I’ll walk till I get to the nearest town and,” he looked around the tight hallway they were cramped in for a moment, evaluating, “I can get a cab from there back to the city. Don’t worry about me.” She smiled genuinely and warmly at him, just as she had once upon a time.

       “I won’t then, Stieg. You always were resourceful and able. I promise I’ll watch over her, Stieg. You have my word.” Stieg smiled, nodding.

       “Your word as a Sister of Sin, or your word as a woman who was once so much more to me?” He smirked, flashing teeth that had seen far better days, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes for a moment. She let go of his arm, tucking her hands into the pockets of her habit.

       “Go, as an outsider I fear you’ve already tarried far too long.” Marta turned and gazed down the hallway. Appearing as though out of thin air, two tall, broad shouldered masked figures emerged. Each of them clasping their hands behind their backs, their legs spread shoulder width apart: they stared and waited, their eyes simple black pits behind their silver horned masks. Stieg nodded silently and began to turn towards the door, his hand reaching for the cold metal of the handle, turning it and pulling open the ancient wooden portal. Marta stood in the doorway, the wind whipping the snow into a frenzy all about Stieg as he walked out into its fury. She watched as long as she could, her teeth chattering as she watched him disappear into the night. His footsteps in the snow being covered quickly by the din of nature’s winter fury: eradicating all evidence that he’d ever been there, everything except a contract of sale.


	2. Brothers: Envy and Spite

_Sweden_

_June 20th, 1946_

_2:38 PM_

 

       “Fratello, it’s beautiful, it’s sleek, it’s _sexy_ , come on! You really don’t want to drive something like that? It’s art on four wheels, fratello.” The younger of the two Emeritus brothers said as he kept pushing his long dark hair behind his shoulder. They walked through the halls of the church they’d grown up in, making their way outside slowly but surely. Their shoes clacked down onto the stone floor of the western wing; they were nearing one of the large two story entrances that lead out into the back garden. People were running in and out, chatter was everywhere and it was constant; it echoed throughout the large entry hall.

       “I don’t want to drive, fratello.” The older of the two spoke finally, his voice was cutting and hard. His vision focused ahead of him and his hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of his robes as they both walked outside. He began to rummage around in his cassock for his cigarettes. His younger, and unfortunately taller brother, laughed offhandedly, leaning into him.

       “You don’t want to drive? What? Why, fratello? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” He flicked his long hair behind his shoulder once more, it grazed his brother’s shoulder and earned him a glare, “Why wouldn't you want to be able to go out on your own? Whenever you wanted!” He gestured to the grounds around them momentarily, as though this was something they could ever really escape.

       “I don’t see the point.” The older of the two shrugged as he spoke. He pulled out a box of cigarettes, smacking it against the back of his hand until one emerged from the pack. He raised the box to his lips and took it out, shutting the case with efficiency and ease that only someone practiced at it could do. He reached down into his other pocket and pulled out a lighter that was in a beautiful ornate silver case, covered in intricate carvings. He flicked it open, the flame bursting from it for only a fleeting moment as he lit the cigarette and inhaled, clicking the lighter lid shut with a keen ferocity.

       They both stood in the high sunlight of the afternoon, the rays bouncing off of their robes and their dark hair. They both squinted as they looked out over the lawn. The younger of the two smirked, watching a group of Sisters of Sin lounging in the sunlight at the far end of the garden; their shoes off and their bare feet in the grass, some of them having had removed their habits, letting their long hair fall around their shoulders.

       “I still don’t see the reason, fratello.” The young of the pair said, “The Alfa Romeo 6C[1] is a beautiful work of engineering! It’s stunning in its speed, it’s the fastest production car in the world right now! Not to mention it’s beautiful.” He elbowed his brother in the side, chuckling lightly as he did so. The older of the two took another drag off of his cigarette, running an errant hand through his thick, dark curly hair. He shook his fingers free of it and jostled his head slightly, feeling the way his hair remained as though it were one unit.

       “It isn’t that the vehicle isn’t a beautiful work of art, fratello.” The older of the two said, taking another drag off of his cigarette, the smoke curling out from between his lips and being whipping away by the wind, “It’s that, at the end of the day, driving is beneath me.” He looked off into the distance of the garden, taking a step down into the grass; he ignored the group of Sisters at the far end of the lawn and instead began to walk down the gently sloping hill, down towards the graveyard and the mausoleum. His younger brother followed behind him reluctantly, turning his head to smile and wink at the Sisters spread out on the lawn, one of them winking back at him, waggling her fingers in a seductive wave. He turned back to his older brother, flicking his long hair once again behind his shoulder. It grazed his brother once more and the elder of the two gave a taught glare again.

       “Stop hitting me with that monstrosity you have growing off your head, fratello.” He said finally, taking one last, long drag off of his cigarette and flicking it into the shrubs. The younger of the two smirked.

       “Like this?” He said as he ran his hand under the long, dark straight locks of his own hair and flicked it again off of his hand, watching the way it sharply struck his brother directly in the face. The older of the two was faster and more intense and with the lightening speed of a snake he reached out and grabbed his brothers long hair by the roots, pulling it closer and closer to his own face so his brother was forced to look him directly in the eye, despite being the taller one.

       “Next time: I rip it all out, fratello, you understand me?” Every word was accompanied with a snarl and gritted teeth, and with every word his fingers dug deeper into his younger brothers scalp. The younger of the two yelped and tried to pull away but it was no use. His brother was too strong and had the upper hand. He nodded as best he could and whimpered.

       “ _Yes, yes, yes_ , just let go, fratello, please!”  The older brother took one last exacting revenge and rocked his hand rapidly back and forth while still holding onto his brothers hair at the roots. It caused his brother to wince and whimper in agony: he did this for several seconds before letting go entirely and pulling away, standing up straight and reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. The younger of the two rubbed his head with both hands.

       “That really hurt! I was just playing with you, fratello. You don’t have to be like that _every time_.” His eyes were watering and the soft rims around them were pink. The older of the two lit another cigarette and smirked.

       “You going to cry now, fratello? Or go and tell Father that I pulled your hair?” He took a drag off of it and blew the smoke in his brothers direction. Still rubbing his scalp, the younger of the two glared at him.

       “No,” he said meekly, “I’m going back up with those Sisters, leaving you to do whatever the hell you want. Stop pulling my hair, fratello. We’re not twelve.” With that he walked off, back up the hill towards the group of women scattered on the lawn. He rubbed his scalp as he approached and several of them covered their mouths in shock as he, undoubtedly, recanted the tale of what happened. They all gathered around him as he sat down amongst them, one of them looping her arm through his and another immediately running her fingers through his long jet black hair, rubbing his scalp for him. He distantly laughed at something one of them said and leaned into the touch of the other. The elder of the two simply stared, squinting in their general direction. He took long drags off of his cigarette until finally he grew tired of watching and began to meander his way down to the lower garden. There was never anyone down there and he enjoyed the silence and the peace.

       The lower garden butted its way up against a quickly moving stream that ran down through the property. He had vague memories of rolling his pants up to his knees and wading into it when he was much younger. He and his younger brother both had done it, while their elder brother, always reading a book and occasionally looking up at them and smiling as he did so, had watched on from the river bank. He would always lean back against an ancient tree that hung down low over the running water and simply watch and read. Now, his elder brother was far too busy for such nonsense, and he found himself leaning against that same tree, alone, flicking his cigarette butts into the running water instead of wading into it himself.

       Soon the afternoon passed into dusk, and dusk became night, and the dark haired young man walked himself back up to the huge compound on the hill; meandering slowly back to his quarters. No one stopped him to chat, and he surely did not stop to speak to anyone at any juncture. He simply walked forward and stared ahead of himself and everyone moved out of his way naturally, like Moses parting the Red Sea. He walked quickly back to his quarters, back into the east wing of the huge compound. He climbed three flights of stone stairs to get there, muttering and grumbling the whole way, wondering why they didn’t have an elevator or at least why he couldn’t have a room on another floor.

       As he passed his younger brothers quarters he heard the distinct sound of giggling and soft, playful whispering. He rolled his eyes, fishing around in his pocket for the key to his quarters as he walked down, past his younger brothers door and then past his elder brothers door, till he reached his own. The key fit into the lock with the same efficiency and ease that he removed his cigarettes from the case: it was a practiced movement, one he knew well. The door opened with a slight push from his shoulder and slammed shut behind him. It took him no time at all to scramble out of his robes and throw them on the back of the chair in the room; someone would be by in the morning to gather them for the wash. They were not of his concern.

       He untied his shoes and then slipped them off, his socks soon followed. Unlike many of those in the church he never bothered to wear anything under his formal robes and in truth, he didn’t see why he should. Naked as the day he was born, he walked into his bathroom and ran the shower: the water was scaldingly hot and it steamed up the room quickly with the door shut. He ran his hands through his thick hair, detangling it as he went. He kept thinking about his brothers hair and how straight it was and how it always hit him in the face. He leaned forward against the wall of his shower, the palms of his hands flat against the white tiles. He looked down at the drain, watching the way strands of his dark hair flowed down there naturally, the way the current carried them down, down, down into the depths of who knew where. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He stood back up and concluded his shower. He turned the knobs off, as the pipes shuddered with the lack of pressure, he stepped out onto the white rug on the floor and grabbed the towel from the rack. Walking over to the sink with the towel wrapped around his waist, he wiped the steam from the mirror. Looking back at him was his own reflection, dark, thick, curly hair framing his face. That plain, blank uneven stare watching him: the trademark mismatched Emeritus eyes.

       His hands gripped either side of the sink and he found himself looking up into the mirror at the reflection which scowled back at him. The way his hair clung to his head; he knew there was nothing he could do about it but still it irked him. The way his brother constantly made it a contest. He smiled: a smooth, devilish grin spread across his face as he stared at himself in the mirror, the steam building back up along the edges of the glass and he ran his hand slowly over it, removing the fog once more.

       “I only have one option.” He whispered to himself, his voice was self assured and his smile grew into a wicked grin; his eyes flashing with rage as he straightened himself and drew in a deep breath. He reached up to the mirror and pulled it open and he scanned the interior for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He pulled it down and plugged it into the wall, listening to the whirling blades as he turned it on. He smiled to himself, reaching up and grabbing a thick handful of his hair as he began to shave it all off to a nice, neat, clean cut. He watched the thick dark curls fall into the porcelain white sink below him and he hummed as he went about his work: he was thoroughly pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] It was a work of love, engineering and art and you can read about the Alfa Romeo 6C here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfa_Romeo_6C


	3. Mundane Movements

_Sweden_

_March 3rd, 1975_

_5:11 AM_

 

       It was still dark when she awoke. Her bare feet touching down onto the thin rug that covered the floor of her dormitory suite, but even with the rug, the cold seeped through and urged her to move quickly. She got dressed as promptly, and quietly, as she could so as not to wake her suite mates. The other three continued to sleep, warm and safe under their covers. Their duties not starting for several more hours yet, one of them working only night shifts. She pulled her blankets up and tucked them in perfectly and symmetrically: her bed was always the pinnacle of perfection and neatness, the sheets smooth and pulled taut. She brushed her teeth over the sink as silently as she could, running the water minimally so that the squealing of the ancient pipes wouldn’t wake the others. She could hear her suite mates continued deep breathing as she pulled her habit on and adjusted her sleeves under the outer garment, pulling them down so the white cuff appeared perfectly under the black long sleeved habit. She looked in the mirror over the communal sink and pushed her dark red hair back further, hiding it away.

       As she left the suite she shut the door with practiced ease. Her footsteps were silent as she walked down the stone floored dormitory, passing door after door, all closed and some locked. No one else was awake and she was always the only one up this early. Soon, she appeared out into the main wing of the church, allowing the door to the dormitory to smoothly shut behind her with a soft _thunk_. All was hushed: no foot traffic, no errant foot steps, no chatter and surely no one else to obstruct her in her daily routine.

       The sun slowly began to appear through the tall stained glass windows, causing the ground to be littered in sparkling, refracting light as she made her way to the kitchens. There she found the breakfast requests for the upper clergy laid out on the counter on scraps of paper and some written in terrible handwriting. She grabbed her usual notepad and pen, then set about rewriting every order perfectly and legibly, mentioning the food item requested and then how it was requested to be cooked. She then placed them on the range hood over the monstrous range cook top for the chef when he arrived within the hour.

       As she left the kitchens there was considerable more presence in the halls, groups of Brothers and Sisters of Sin walked by her, but she bowed her head, gazing at her feet instead. Focusing on her foot falls, trying to get to her next destination as quickly as possible, without being noticed. The group passed and she was, mercifully, alone once more as she headed towards the library. It was silent this time of day and every movement she made seemed to echo throughout. There were piles of books on tables that she gathered and sorted, putting them all away. She passed by the ancient archival door, knowing full well it was locked but she laid several books down by its entrance, knowing she was not allowed in the restricted section to put them back.

       She wandered from desk and table to desk and table once again, gathering up books and placing them back where they belonged. She gathered up trash and balled up notes and threw them away. The pencils and quills were all placed away in their designated places and all the chairs were wiped down and pushed back under the tables. She looked around once more at the vast library, watching the way the sun rose higher and faster, coming in through the mottled glass windows and dancing on the cold stone floor. She walked out of the library, watching as the sunlight dabbled the stone floor here and there in pockets. She put her hands in the pockets of her habit as stared at her own feet as she walked across the vast library, towards the large wooden, ornately carved towering doors.

       As she reached the exit, she happened to look up and caught a fleeting glimpse of a whip-like tail belonging to one towering, broad shouldered, masked ghoul. He walked hurriedly and secretly across the suspended iron sculpted walkway, which hung from the ceiling far above. He did not see her, his gaze simply ahead of him and not on the menial domestic serf that she was. She lowered her head and focused on the ground instead, her hands clamping into nervous fists in her pockets. She did not stare after him; after all, he was a Ghoul and she was well and far below his station. She left the library and walked quickly through the halls, avoiding the larger main areas and instead favored the quieter, tighter passages through the back halls. She continued on towards the chapel, her footsteps rapid and hushed, moving as silently as possible to avoid detection, as she had done her whole life.

       Upon arriving at the chapel she was, once again, alone. She was relieved: working alongside someone else made her anxious and worried that they’d botch her progress and her work. She began to remove the black candles from their sconces, gathering up all the ones whose wicks were burning too low and carrying them to a basket where she discarded them: they’d be melted down and recast into new ones for later use. She worked in silence as she went through the cupboard in the back storage area and fetched new ones, fitting them all into the sconces for the next Black Mass; this way they’d look perfect and new and burn brightly. She wiped the pews down and cleaned the main alter; down on her knees, scrubbing blood and wax from the floor.

       By the time she was done she had a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead and the rags in her hands were filthy. She knew she’d have to stop by the laundry facilities to drop these off and gather new ones. She counted the candles one more time, making sure all the sconces had been replaced with new candles, before gathering up the basket with the old ones to be taken to the servants kitchen to be melted down and made into new ones to be recycled and used again. She was tired and it wasn’t even 1:00 PM yet.

       She stepped out into the sun for the first time that day since waking up and the snow on the ground was a beautiful white, untouched, pristine sheet. The tree boughs were laden with heavy blankets of it and she always noticed how beautiful it was. The sidewalks were shoveled and salted but that didn’t stop her from shivering as she walked from the chapel back to the western wing of the churches mammoth expanse. The basket on her arm full of old candles did not provide much warmth and she walked with her head down, trying to tuck herself away in on herself. As she entered a small wooden door on the western side of the church, shutting it briskly, she shivered and tried to shake off the cold. She deposited the basket of candles in the servants kitchen quarters, knowing that whoever was in charge of that would pick them up and deposit them where they needed to be.

       That facet of her job was done and now she was on her way to the next one. She walked quickly through the back passage ways to the mess hall, hoping to grab something to eat before continuing onto her next job. Her hands still tucked deeply into the pockets of her habit, her footsteps still gently falling onto the stone floor. She emerged from the back passages only to find a constant and steady stream of Brothers and Sisters of Sin walking this way and that. The endlessly echoing chatter was a bit overwhelming and she took several deep breaths as she entered the mess hall. It was very loud in there and she was only interested in gathering something to eat and then finding a quiet place to eat it in.

       Before she could make any sort of decision whatsoever though, a short Ghoul came up behind her and placed two fingers on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She whirled around and stared at the Ghoul her eyes wide, he tilted his masked face in apology, his hand over his chest as he spoke, “You are Ellinor, yes?” He asked quietly. She simply nodded, her face drained of any color. He stood up straight, his hands now folded in front of him tightly, his tail whipping back and forth behind him sharply, “Sister Imperator wishes to speak with you, Bond Servant Ellinor. Please, follow me.” She nodded mutely and followed obediently in the Ghouls wake. She looked over her shoulder for one moment at the mess hall, listening as the sounds of chatter drained away and the halls became quieter once more, but still she desperately wished she’d been able to get something to eat.


	4. Business: In All Its Forms

_Sweden_

_March 3rd, 1975_

_2:42 PM_

 

       The desk was so heavy that it didn’t move an inch as he pounded away into his most recent “assistant”. There were papers on the floor, his shirt was unbuttoned, his jacket hanging haphazardly off of the back of his chair. The current Sister of Sin that he happened to be banging in and out of was screaming her enjoyment for all to hear and that amused Papa Emeritus the Second. He chuckled under his breath, as his breathing became more labored, and he pushed her legs further apart and up onto his shoulders. As he grit his teeth and started to go to go even harder, which had just begun to elicit even louder moans from the woman spread out in front of him on his desk, his phone rang. He glared at it, but it kept ringing and finally, he knew he couldn’t ignore it. He slowed his movements, but didn’t stop, reaching down with one gloved hand to pick up the phone and hold it prisoner between the side of his head and his shoulder.

      “Yes?” His voice was ragged and the woman under him cooed with delight, biting her bottom lip, moving her hips slower, trying to tease him. He gripped her hips, holding them still, plunging in and out as he shook his head for her to stop her gyrations. The voice on the other line sighed in disgust.

      “You could have had the decency to just _not answer the phone_ when you’re ‘busy’, you know.” Imperator said curtly on the line. Papa smirked, huffing into the phone, holding onto the Sisters knees as he spoke.

      “What is it you want, Sister Imperator?” His voice was a low growl and the Sister of Sin displayed out, legs spread, naked on his desk, covered her mouth with her right hand; her eyes bulging at his words. She rolled her head back onto the dark wood of the desk, trying to remain quiet, now knowing that Sister Imperator was on the phone. She blushed all over; Papa smirked, taking that opportunity to ram into her harder and faster if only to see the desired effect.

      “You complained, most irritatingly to your Father, about how useless your assistant was,” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she listened to the distant noises coming from the other end of the phone, “though I must say, she does seem to be fitting the bill now. Are you sure you wish to replace her?” Papa plowed into her again, slowing down for only a moment, just enough to speak. The Sister was too lost in her own head to listen to him now.

      “Most assuredly,” he grunted, “once it’s all used up there’s no point in keeping it.” He sped up again, rapidly pumping in and out deeply. Imperator sighed.

      “Very well, that decision reached then, know that I have found you a replacement. Hurry up and be ready by 3:00 and I’ll bring her to your office to meet with you.” Imperator began to hang up but then quickly came back on the line with a chilling and commanding voice, “And make sure you’re presentable!” She hung the phone up with a heavy _clank_ on the receiver. Papa smirked and hung up the phone. He sunk back into his assistant once more, this time leaning over her and grabbing her by the throat with a gloved hand.

      “You know who that was, cara?” His words were heavy and hot, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he spoke. She bit her lip sensually, letting it pop gently out from between her teeth, “Imperator.” She whispered. Papa nodded his head slowly, deliberately.

      “I have a meeting with her at 3:00,” he glanced at the clock over the mantle piece, “it’s 2:46 now, so, we need to swiftly adjourn this meeting we're currently, ah, conducting. Then you must depart, cara.” Before she could respond, he pulled her towards him and with deft and capable hands, flipped her onto her stomach on his desk. Her legs dangling down to the floor; her toes barely able to touch. She held onto the opposite end and moaned loudly as he plowed into her from behind, his gloved fingers digging into her skin, holding her cheeks apart with brutal efficiency. He was holding her still as he quickly let himself reach his peak, only to pull out and finish on her backside. He grunted behind gritted teeth, looking up at her briefly from behind his sunglasses. She wiggled her hips at him as she had earlier, but this time he did not chuckle or laugh, let alone smile. He simply looked at the clock and pulled away, tucking himself back into his pants as he pulled them up from his ankles. He began to button his shirt back up, tucking it in quickly.

      He gathered up her habit for her and handed it to her. She took it from him and slipped it back on as she sidled up to him, looping her right arm with his left, “Papa, is a phone call really more important than me? I am your assistant, after all. Don’t you need me to,” she ran her fingers up the buttons of his white shirt as she spoke, “take notes for you?” She smiled a devilish grin. He took her hand in his as it neared his face, a cold smirk now appearing on his features. He took a step backwards as he pulled away from her.

      “It isn’t the phone call itself, it’s what happens _because_ of the phone call.” His voice was crisp and cold and it held not an ounce of the same warmth that it had earlier. He scooted her shoes towards her with his left foot, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, cara, I have some other business to attend to.” He turned his back to her and walked into the bathroom that was adjacent to his office. She could hear running water and the sound of him humming busily. She glared around the room, her mouth a simple straight line, and with that, in one swift motion she bent down to pick up her shoes. She didn’t bother putting them on: she walked bare footed, out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

      He washed his hands and took his sunglasses off, rubbing his face with a damp cloth. He made no indication that he was bothered when he heard the door slam and in truth, he wasn’t, his mind was already on the next task: whatever new “assistant” Imperator had dredged up for him. Though he had to admit that he did enjoy this constant rotation of willing Sisters of Sin; he smiled for a moment, remembering how he had rubbed his younger brothers face in it several weeks earlier. He walked out of the bathroom, sunglasses in hand, and back into his formal office: it was a mess now. He placed the sunglasses on his desk and then spent the next several minutes picking up papers and laying them in a pile on his desk, in no particular order, figuring he could go through it later. The clock struck 3:00 and he went to his chair, lifting his jacket off of it and putting it on. He buttoned it up to the second button and straightened his shirt collar as he did so, then reached for his sunglasses and put them back on. He sat down in his chair and waited, staring directly at the clock, his hands clasped over his lap as the sharp knocking on the door indicated the arrival of Sister Imperator and whatever new trinket she had brought him.


	5. First Meetings

_Sweden_

_March 3rd, 1975_

_2:46 PM_

 

       Ellinor sat with her hands in her lap as Imperator hung up the phone with a nasty _clank_. She shook her head. Her blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, shook idly as she angrily began to search her desk for something. Ellinor noticed the grey hair at Imperator’s temples. She squinted, finding herself thinking that, surely, Imperator couldn’t be old enough for grey hair? But she pushed the thought away, and instead watched as the other woman pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose. Beginning to file through a stack of papers and muttering quietly to herself as she went. Her fingers flew over the parchment and every now and then she stopped to lick her thumb and then went right back to it. Ellinor sat in silence and stared ahead: her mouth was a straight line, her ankles were crossed demurely, her hands in her lap clutched together tightly, her knuckles white.

       “I can’t say how long you’ll last. Papa Emeritus the Second’s assistants don’t have,” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “lets just say they don’t have a very good track record.” She went back to filing through paperwork and Ellinor nodded in silence. Imperator continued to mutter quietly to herself as she opened one of her desk drawers, and scanned it quickly, before pulling out several sheets of paper.

       “I spoke with Papa Nihil on the phone,” she began, pushing the paperwork across the desk towards Ellinor, “though he is not here, he has given me permission to allow you to, _negate_ , your Bond Servant status for the time being. So that you may be elevated to the position of Assistant, for Papa Emeritus the Second.” Ellinor reached for the pen next to the paperwork. Imperator furrowed her brow, “Aren’t you going to read the contract first? Before you sign it?” She asked with deadly precision.

       “Oh, yes.” Ellinor said quietly, redirecting her hands to the paperwork instead of the pen. She picked up the pile of papers and scanned them, though for what she did not know. She simply pretended to read them. She sat them all back down on the desk and then went to pick up the pen, but hesitated for a moment, “Does this mean, once I am no longer His Unholinesses assistant, I would go back to my Bond Servant duties?” She asked quietly, almost a whisper. Imperator nodded curtly.

       “Yes, it means once His Unholiness no longer needs your assistance, or if he dismisses you, then you will return to your Bond Servant duties.” Imperator interlaced her fingers on the desk, a forced smile spreading its way across her sharp features. Ellinor stared ahead at the paperwork in her hands. She nodded. The clock on the wall ticked. Imperator’s eyes glanced at it. Ellinor finally picked up the pen and began to sign her name, slowly and deliberately, on the dotted line. She sighed as she did so, watching the way the ink flowed out of the fountain pen, leaving dark blotches on the paper where she lingered over certain letters. She laid the pen down on the desk silently and looked up at Imperator. The other woman smiled, a forced, hard curved line forming on her face as she held out her hand. Ellinor did not smile but instead gathered the paperwork in her careful hands and tapped the edges down onto the desk, straightening them. She then placed the pile into Imperator’s outstretched hand.

       Ellinor sat still in her chair as Imperator filed through it, picking up a stamp from her desk drawer and stamping here and there, scribbling her initials on the side and then again elsewhere, busily brushing through the paperwork. Ellinor, now seemingly forgotten as she sat in silence, stared down at the dark blue, oriental rug that covered the stone floors. Though, she was only able to notice how badly it needed to be cleaned, not the craftsmanship or the care or even the intricate stunning design. Imperator cleared her throat, bringing Ellinor out of her reverie.

       “It is done then!” She clasped her hands together as she stood up, to shake Ellinor’s hand. Just as Ellinor slowly stood to return the gesture, pressing the palms of her hands down flat against her habit, the phone on Imperator’s desk rang. Imperator sighed and shook her head, another forced smile on her face as she raised a single finger, a signal to wait, and Ellinor simply stood: her hands clasped in front of her tightly. Imperator’s voice was rushed on the phone and her eyes began to dance around the room, she reached for a pen and began to write on an errant piece of paper: scribbling small notes here and there. She asked many questions, though Ellinor didn’t really hear what they were. She forced herself to tune out, just as she had done her entire life with the higher clergy: this wasn’t her place and she knew that.

       Imperator slammed the phone down on the hook and looked up at Ellinor. Her forced smile was back, she stood up straight as she spoke, “I’m terribly sorry about that, there seems to have been an emergency and Papa Nihil has called me away at once to another of the Churches locations.” She sighed and began to walk around her desk, standing next to Ellinor, who stood silently and stared at Imperator with wide eyes; hands still tightly clasped in front of her.

       “I will see to it that Unholy Mother Beata meets you in the entrance hall. She can take you to meet with His Unholiness the Second in his quarters.” Imperator placed a gentle, but forceful hand, on Ellinor’s shoulder, guiding her out of the office and into the hallway. Ellinor turned to the other woman, her words almost a whisper, “If it’s easier, Sister Imperator, I can find my way there by myself. You don’t have to trouble Her Unholy Mother with this.” Imperator flashed a genuine smile, tilting her head to the right as she was obviously caught off guard.

       "Well, if you’re absolutely sure?” Sister Imperator asked as Ellinor nodded.

       “I grew up here, Sister Imperator, and I know the way to His Unholinesses office very well. Though I must admit, I’ve never been inside it.” Ellinor looked at the floor, her voice small. Sister Imperator beamed that same forced smile once more.

       “Oh! Before I forget,” Imperator turned back to her desk and picked up an envelope and brought it back to Ellinor, forcing it into the woman’s hand, “this is the letter for His Unholiness. It states that, by order of myself, you are now the direct assistant to His Unholiness Papa Emeritus the Second. He will want to see this paperwork upon your arrival.” Ellinor gripped the envelope in her hand tightly. She swallowed audibly and nodded curtly; her eyes grazing the pristine white envelope with a golden wax seal.

       “And now we must part ways, Ellinor. Thank you so much for agreeing to this position and I wish you the best of luck on your task!” Before Ellinor could thank her, Sister Imperator had shut her office door; the heavy wood colliding with the frame soundly. The muffled sounds of cursing and the pounding of footsteps could be heard behind it. Ellinor once more looked at the envelope in her hand. She stopped holding it so tightly, not wanting to wrinkle or damage it. She drew in a deep breath and began to walk down the stone floored hallway, to the large circular stone stairs in the center of the main building. Each step upwards was difficult, as she knew she was entering unfamiliar territory with every move upwards.

       The sounds of people below echoed up through the large, four story stone halls; people bustling about their day, talking to one another, shoes clacking down onto stone loudly and Ellinor continued to walk upwards. The stairway became tighter and tighter, the stairs themselves became steeper and soon the windows were few and far between as she continued her upward climb. She stopped at the floor just beneath her destination. There were some quarters for Higher Clergy members here, and some higher ranking Ghouls, but it wasn’t anything special. Many of the rooms she knew to be vacant and locked, covered in dust and cobwebs from years of disuse, their keys having surely been misplaced centuries ago. She drew in a slow breath, remembering the letter in her hand, she bit her lip and stared at it. Her grip on it was as tight as a vice and the palm of her hand was becoming sweaty. She opened her hand for a moment, letting the cold air kiss the sweat of her palm and she shivered as she put the letter into the pocket of her habit instead. She let go of the breath she’d been holding and ran her hands down the back of her habit, smoothing out the fabric but also wiping her palms on it. If she told herself she wasn’t scared, then that would be a lie.

       She steeled herself and gazed up the next flight of stairs: they were smooth stones, circling round and round and round into a tight turret that led up to the highest members of clergy’s quarters. She took the beautiful wooden railing into her hand and began to slowly walk up the stairs; going around and around, up and up. It wasn’t a long climb but her legs begged to differ, they ached from all those previous flights of stairs. A piece of her wondered if there was an easier way to reach that top floor, when she found herself standing in a narrow hallway. On one end was the large round stained glass window, intricately wrought with the most beautiful motifs, all interwoven with one another and now just a tangled mess that only time could ever really tell the true story of, and at the other end of the hallway was a single massive wooden door. It had the same heavy, round metal handle that all the other doors were accompanied with in the church. Ellinor stood just in front of the stained glass window, her shadow warbling on the stone floor from the light filtering in behind her. This floor was almost wholly unknown to her: she’d been there once before, to change the sheets on a bed once with another Sister of Sin, but that was a lifetime ago now it seemed.

       She began to walk towards the wooden door at the other end of the hallway, passing by paintings hung on the walls of Papa’s long since passed and Higher Clergy members who had been gone for time out of mind: some of them didn’t even have birth or death dates inscribed on the plaque at the bottom. There were no benches along the walls here. No other doors leading to off shooting hallways. The sounds of others had long since drifted away and now only silence descended. Ellinor’s footsteps were light and quiet, her soft soled shoes making her almost barefoot on the cold stone floor. She stood up a little straighter and pressed her heels together, her knees almost touching. She swallowed audibly and reached up with her left hand, knocking twice on the door. The sound echoed throughout the hallway. She clasped her hands together in front of her again, waiting as the silence stretched for too long, before she finally raised her hand to knock on the door once more.

       “Come in,” a voice sounded from behind the door. The voice was neither urgent nor commanding, it simply was; Ellinor grasped the handle and pushed against the door with her shoulder. It creaked open smoothly only to reveal a large, extensive office with stone floors and high vaulted, wooden ceilings. The floor was covered in a large oriental rug that didn’t quite reach all the way across the room.

       “Where is Imperator?” The man sitting at the desk asked. He had sunglasses on and was sitting back in his chair, comfortably, as though he’d been waiting for her this whole time. She slipped her hand into her habit, reaching for the letter Sister Imperator had given her.

       “I have the paperwork here, your Unholiness.” She held out the pristine white envelope in front of her. With two fingers, he beckoned for her to approach. Walking towards the intimidatingly vast, heavy wood desk, she spoke up clearly and plainly, “Sister Imperator had to leave, at His Summum[1] Unholiness Nihil's direct request.” Her voice did not waver; she stared straight ahead, reaching the edge of the desk and handing over the paperwork. He took it from her easily and opened the envelope. She stood silently, her hands clasped in front of her tightly. She glanced at the antique, wooden clock on the mantelpiece: it was a simple thing that did not match the rest of the decor in the office. It ticked away quietly, sitting alone on its perch.

       She looked away from the clock, noticing that the man in front of her had opened the letter with ease. He was turning it over and looking at the wax seal: it had been intact when she handed it to him. He begun reading the paperwork and leaning back in his chair, the gears of it squeaking ever so slightly; otherwise he sat perfectly still, almost like a statue. He arched an eyebrow suddenly and tilted his head at her, “Bond Servant?” His words were questioning and cold. She tightly nodded, but said nothing. He hummed idly to himself, staring at the letter in his hand. Finally he rose from his seat, it’s gears and springs creaking ever so slightly as he did, and walked over to the massive stone fireplace. He stood in front of the flames for a brief moment before tossing the letter into them: the letter was consumed in seconds. As it burned he reached up and opened the glass on the clock face and adjusted the arms of the clock to match the time on his watch, precisely. He closed the glass with the gentlest of clicks and turned away from it, walking slowly towards her, one step at a time. She turned to face him, but her eyes were downcast, to his shoes and her hands remained tightly clasped in front of her.

       “But why are you a Bond Servant?” His voice was soft but fell on her like freezing rain. She did not look up. Her hands tightening on each other, her fingers turning white at the knuckles: this was not a question she was prepared to answer. Her mouth went dry and she croaked her response.

       “As a Bond Servant my history is irrelevant, your Unholiness, and I do not wish to burden you with unnecessary knowledge.” He tilted his head to the right as she spoke. He watched her for a fraction of a second before sliding his hands into his pockets.

       “Well, whatever the case may be you’re here now, aren’t you?” His mouth quirked at the corners as he spoke. He turned around on his heel and began to walk slowly out of the large office, his footsteps echoing off of the stone and throughout the high ceilings. He stopped next to the grand piano, closing the lid to the keys idly as he turned back to her, “We’ll discuss your duties tomorrow. But for now,” he nodded towards the papers on his desk, “organize those into some semblance of order. I expect my coffee, which should be black with no cream or sugar, to be on my desk there at 7:30 AM, no later. I shall see you tomorrow.” He gave the slightest of nods as he walked to the door quickly, pulling the handle with the ease and efficiency of someone who had pulled on that door handle many times before, and slipped out into the hallway. Leaving the door to slam behind him, its _thud_ echoing for only the briefest of moments.

       Ellinor stood in the room, alone, staring at the door. She shook herself and took a deep breathe. Turning around she saw the desk, the paperwork was everywhere, all in huge piles. She stood up and worked; placing things that looked the same with each other into neat and orderly stacks. She worked into the later afternoon and watched the sun setting from the huge bay windows in the office. She didn’t notice how beautiful it was.

 

[1] Latin for ‘Chief’


	6. Duties and the Way of Things

_Sweden_

_March 4th, 1975_

_7:16 AM_

 

       Ellinor had placed everything within arms reach from his chair: the coffee pot, the cup and saucer. She turned the cup upside down on the saucer, so it would stay free of any floating dust in the air. She reorganized the desk so all the paperwork was in presentable piles. Much better than how she’d first seen it the night before. Everything had its own alphabetically organized stack and was divided with plain paper bookmarks she’d made, each one labeled appropriately to depict where one subject ended and another began. The paperwork had taken her all night to file and organize. In all, it was a jumbled mess, but she’d done the best she could with it. She fretted with the coffee cups placement for several moments, until she figured it was in the best position; the coffee pot was still boiling hot as it sat peacefully on its iron trivet. The room was silent, the only sound was that of the clock on the mantelpiece, ticking away gently. She stood back, her hands clasped in front of her tightly and viewed the arrangement: praying that it would be to his liking, though he never did specify his preferences. She heard the creaking of the side office door, the one that led to his personal quarters and she stood back, away from his desk and bowed her head, looking at her shoes.

       The door creaked loudly and the sound of his shoes tapping gently against the hardwood floors echoed throughout the large open floor expanse of the office. He stopped, his hand on the door handle, his foot holding the door open. He looked at her from behind his trademark sunglasses, his mouth slightly agape. His eyes went from the desk, which had all the paperwork organized perfectly and the coffee hot and ready, to the woman standing to the side, head bowed. Her face was plain, her mouth a simple straight, flat line and her eyes downcast, focused on her shoes. He smiled, something he rarely did that early in the morning, and finally let go of the door, allowing it to close gently behind him.

       “I must say,” he said as he walked towards her, his hands tucked into his pockets, “I didn’t expect you to be on time, let alone early.” He turned around quickly and checked the clock on the mantelpiece: it said 7:21 AM. He smirked, “I told you to be here at 7:30, but here you are, much to my surprise.” She did not smile but she did nod her head once, though still not looking at him, she quietly said, “You asked for your coffee to be ready by 7:30 AM, your Unholiness and now it is ready by 7:30 AM.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, watching her closely.

       “You do follow your orders to a tee, don’t you?” He said as he walked towards his chair, pulling it out and sitting down in it. He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, indicating for her to sit down. Her eyes went wide and she looked between him and the chair, but he insisted, gesturing with his hand once more, “Well I'm not going to hold my arm out all day, am I? Please sit down.” She nodded stiffly and walked around the large wooden desk, sitting in the dark green leather chair, its wheels skidded gently on the wooden floors and she found herself nervously adjusting it every so often. She sat with her back perfectly straight, her hands in her lap and her eyes on the piles of paperwork in front of her. He poured himself his coffee and began to sip at it as he filed through the first of many stacks of paperwork. He raised his eyebrows here and there, muttering to himself, looking at the bookmarks she’d made, noticing the order it was all in.

       “This is,” he paused, nodding to himself, “this is very well done.” He looked up at her and she nodded silently once more. He squinted at her from behind impenetrably dark sunglasses, “Why don’t you say anything? I know you can speak, you spoke up yesterday well enough.” He said as he leaned into his high backed leather chair, the gears of it squealing as he did so. He watched and he waited, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. Ellinor stared ahead of herself; a gaze that seemed to go straight through him.

       “I didn’t see any reason to speak, your Unholiness.” Her voice was monotone as she spoke, her hands still folded together tightly in her lap. He raised an eyebrow at her, but did not push the issue and instead hummed in a non committal tone. He leaned forward, the gears of his chair squealing along with his movements. He rested his elbows on the desk, his left hand idly flipping through a stack of paperwork she had organized the night before.

       “Well, no matter, on to more pressing business.” He looked up at her and sighed as he continued, “The duties I expect of you should be very standard form: have my coffee ready by 7:30 AM every morning, I’d like for you to keep my office organized and that includes paperwork and general cleanliness.” He put his gloved hands into a steeple formation in front of his face as he spoke, “My suits and jackets should be kept clean of lint and dust, and my shoes I expect to be cleaned to a shine; they’re all in the armoire over there.” He indicated by tilting his head to the right, towards the 18th century French walnut two-door armoire. With its raised panels and arch top doors being covered with scrolls and curved molded borders, the middle panel on each door was carved with an intricate eight-pointed star. Ellinor simply nodded, her eyes stuck on the stunningly beautiful piece of hand carved, custom furniture: it had obviously cost a great deal.

       “I also expect you to attend meetings with me, I’ll need you to take notes. I’ll give you some warning prior to a meeting with,” he paused for a moment, obviously thinking of his words carefully before speaking, “with Sister Imperator, his Summun Unholiness Nihil, and sometimes a few Cardinals.” He waved his hand vaguely at the last group, as though this was wholly unimportant, “I also expect you to keep yourself organized and presentable. I don’t think that will be a problem though.” He flashed her a quick, sharp smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Once again, Ellinor simply nodded, finally allowing the soft whispering of words to tumble from her mouth, “I understand, your Unholiness.” He watched her closely from behind his sunglasses, squinting tightly at her. Finally, he sighed and stood up, his chair snapping with the quickness at which he ejected himself from it. He began to walk around his desk, buttoning up his jacket as he did so.

       “I hope all of that was concise and to the point enough and now, I must excuse myself, for I have some duties to attend to." Ellinor stood up from the chair she’d been seated in and bowed to him curtly. Her hands folded still in front of her, her mouth a simple straight line, and her gaze seemingly passing through him. He took one last look at her and nodded rigidly, before turning on his heel and walking out of the office: the heavy wooden door slamming behind him as he exited.

       Ellinor sighed when he’d left, pulling her hands apart and wiping them on her habit; the sweat was hot and left marks on the dark cloth before drying. She turned around to his desk, noticing that he hadn’t finished his coffee. She began to clean it up, placing it all on the tray on which it had been delivered, so she could put it out in the hall for housekeeping. Setting the tray in the hall, she returned to the office and began to take stock of the four cherry wood filing cabinets that lined the back wall.

       Elsewhere Papa was aimlessly walking through the Church, killing time before he had to _actually_ be somewhere. He walked through the halls with people bowing and scraping and moving out of the way; he simply walked through them, ignoring them all as he walked past them and out onto the grounds. The sun was rising dutifully and early spring breeze was crisp and constant. It was not for the last time that he was glad he wore sunglasses everywhere, as the sunlight was bright and intense shining down on his face. He walked along the concrete sidewalk as it led around the Church's exterior grounds. He simply meandered this way and that, passing by Sisters and Brothers of Sin, many of whom bowed nervously or stepped out of his way and walked on the grass, allowing him to continue walking on the concrete, alone. He paid them no heed.

       As he walked in the bright early spring sunlight, he approached a private section of the Church: the garage. All the cars were kept here and the drivers lived in the apartments above the parked vehicles. One car stood out from the rest: it had clearly been washed and waxed very recently. To the point that one of the Brothers of Sin was actually cleaning the tires and the hubcaps vigorously with a very dirty rag, his sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows, his knees digging into the gravel of the driveway. It was a beautiful thing, a black Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL, it was kept in near perfect condition. It’s beautiful ivory white seats contrasted perfectly with the chestnut wood inlay around the dashboard and its performance was rivaled by none. The vehicle's handling was just as superb, if not more impressive, than its sleek and sumptuous appearance.

       Papa watched idly from a distance as none other than Sister Imperator, dressed formally in a black pencil skirt with a white flowing blouse and red heels, walked out towards the waiting vehicle. The Brother of Sin, who had been down on his knees cleaning, stood up quickly and scampered off; the driver, clad in his all black suit, shooed the younger Brother away as Sister Imperator approached. Papa smirked, walking quickly up to the driveway and almost breaking into a light jog so as to intercept Sister Imperator on her way to the waiting vehicle. He walked alongside her for a fraction of a second, she momentarily glared at him from behind her sunglasses. He forced a wide smile as he offered her his arm, “Allow me.”

       She gave a half-hearted smile as she reluctantly took his arm and allowed him to walk her the rest of the way to the waiting vehicle, its engine now running and the driver waiting patiently as he held open the back passenger door for her. They walked in silence for some seconds before Papa leaned down to her, his voice almost a whisper, “Tell me, Imperator, why did you sidle me with a Bond Servant?” He asked, his words brisk. Imperator smiled and tilted her head.

        “Whatever do you mean, Papa?” She asked quietly, her voice dripping in sarcasm as they approached the vehicle. Papa stopped walking, Imperator continuing to hold onto his arm as they stood face to face on the sidewalk, the wind whipping her long hair about.

       “Don’t play stupid, Imperator, we both know that for everything you do in plain sight there is some hidden, ulterior motive.” His words were sharp and cold, his gaze from behind his sunglasses was a wide eyed, unblinking, stare. The driver of the vehicle fidgeted nervously, his fingers drumming on the frame of the door. His eyes danced around them, trying to look at anything else but Papa and Imperator, seemingly frozen on the sidewalk in a standoff. Imperator reached up with her left hand and rested it on her right, still interlaced with Papa’s arm. She looked up at him and smiled with a warm, soft beaming grin on her face. She leaned forward as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, “You say that as if, you too, were not guilty of such things.” As she pulled away the smile lingered on her face and Papa let go of her arm, nodding to her as he gestured to her waiting vehicle.

       “Thank you ever so much for the escort.” She curtsied politely to him and began to walk away towards the warm, waiting vehicle, the driver now standing at rapt attention, his gloved fingers clinging to the frame of the door tightly. Papa pushed his hands into his pockets as he watched her walk away, his mouth a straight, tight line across his face. As she reached the car door, she called back to him, “I do so look forward to seeing you this evening at the party, your Unholiness.” She smiled once more and waved before ducking into the backseat of the black Mercedes, the driver shutting the heavy door with a deep _clunk_ ; Imperator now safely hidden away behind the dark tinted glass. Papa didn’t wait for the vehicle to leave. Once the car door was shut he turned to go back inside, the afternoon sun beginning to rise and beat down on the black fabric of his blazer as the gravel beneath his shoes crunched while he walked away. 

       The early afternoon sunlight that had shone down on everyone, warming them from the brisk spring air, soon retreated and was replaced by the fading sunlight of the evening. The colors in the sky bouncing from yellow to orange, red to purple, mixing and weaving in all sorts of patterns all across the sky. The foot traffic on the outside of the Church grounds lessened as everyone retreated indoors and the shawl of darkness began to creep across the sky, blotting out the sun for another day. As the sun was now gone, the stars emerged and the full and total darkness of night descended. The grounds of the Church were silent and cold in the early spring night.

       Night came on quickly and it lingered for far too long in the early days of spring. All the cars were now parked in the garage; their drivers were in their living quarters above them, the soft light from their rooms glowing out onto the gravel driveway. The hedge maze, far to the back of the property that butted up against the forest, was silent and dark; the topiary animals eerily still in the twilight. The majority of Sisters and Brothers of Sin we’re either getting ready for bed or were already asleep, most of the usual foot traffic inside the church had come to a grinding halt.

       The party for the upper clergy members was winding down and many of the guests were on their way out, their cars being brought around the circle driveway to pick them up. Some of them Cardinals, Unholy Mothers and Fathers, but none of them belonging directly to the Main Church, and so they left, back to their own separate branches of the Emeritus Church. It had been, as usual, a large affair. Many important hands to shake and many faces to pretend to recognize; though, Papa knew them all. He knew them all because he had to and he knew everything about them they didn’t want him to know. Which, of course, pleased him deeply. He was tipsy walking back to his quarters; tipsy on whiskey and high on the social knowledge of so many important people who had groveled at his feet all night.

       A languid smile was plastered on his face as he fished the key to his quarters out of his pocket. Pushing the ancient metal into the lock and turning it, the lock popped open with the greatest of ease and he shouldered the door open. It shut closed behind him with a gentle _thunk_. Walking through the narrow hallway of his private quarters, he noticed the light coming from under the door to his office. He squinted at it; he hadn’t remembered leaving the lights on. He put his hand on the door handle to the office and pushed the door open: the light on the desk was on, the light over the filing cabinets was on, the light over the piano was on. And there was Ellinor, dutifully organizing the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, paperwork scattered everywhere in large piles and stacks. She stood up quickly, her shoes clinking together at the heel, her fingers immediately interlacing with one another in front of her.

      “Good evening, your Unholiness, I apologize for waking you.” Her voice was small and she spoke to her shoes instead of directly to him. Papa lingered in the doorway, his fingers on the door handle; his mouth agape.

       “You didn’t wake me,” his sunglasses hung from the collar of his shirt, his gaze jumped around the room as he continued, “what in the world are you doing awake so late?” He pulled himself out of the doorway, tucking his hands into his pockets, he began to walk towards her. She looked up at him for the briefest of moments.

       “You asked me to organize all your paperwork. So I started with your filing cabinets, seeing as they are very disorganized.” She gestured to the piles of paper on the floor. He tilted his head in thought, looking at the piles and stacks here and there.

       “Well, I certainly haven’t gone through them in years. I suppose they could use a thorough cleaning.” He smiled at her. She nodded silently, her hands gripping each other tighter and tighter in front of her. He walked closer to her and found himself standing just in front of her. She didn’t look up, but she didn’t waiver, she simply stood there and stared at the floor. He put his hand under her chin and pulled her face up, forcing her to look at him.

       “Why do you always look down, cara?” He raised an eyebrow at her, his one white eye going wide as he spoke.

       “I’m a Bond Servant, your Unholiness.” She stated clearly, never pulling away. Simply standing stiff and still in her spot. He nodded silently.

       “I know you’re a Bond Servant,” he let his hand drop away and she tilted her face back down to the floor; staring once more at her shoes, “That doesn’t explain why you always look down though.” Ellinor said nothing and instead crouched down to pick up a stack of paperwork and began placing it on top of the one filing cabinet. He watched her work for several tense moments. She was efficient and fast and she knew exactly where everything was. Her hands were adept and capable; her fingers moved with speed and knowledge over each pile and stack of papers. As though she had the entire office mapped out in her head already. As though he knew exactly where everything belonged without even looking at it.

       “You know, you don’t have to do all this.” He said quietly, his voice a deep rumble as he walked over to the wooden bar cabinet, opening it and digging around for the lead crystal whiskey decanter. She slowed her pace as she placed the last pile of paperwork on top of the other filing cabinet, getting them all off the floor and out of the way. She turned to him, her green eyes were wide as she watched him filling up his snifter and twirling the amber liquid in the glass.

       “This is my job, your Unholiness. You asked for me to complete this task. So I’m completing it.” She was still and stiff again, her hands clenched together in front of her once more. He chuckled, looking down into his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl around before drinking it down in one go.

       “That’s true,” he poured himself another drink as he continued, “I did ask you to do that.” He walked back over to her, his footsteps measured and precise, his shoes tapping gently onto the wooden floors. She watched him closely, her eyes squinted at him, just enough to be suspicious. He stood in front of her and offered her his glass. She shook her head. He shrugged, drinking it all down himself, “Surely, this can all wait until tomorrow, cara?” He gestured with his now empty glass at the paperwork on the tops of the filing cabinets. He raised an eyebrow at her once again, this time allowing his gaze to rove slowly up and down her form, his other hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned her head for only a fraction of a second to look at it before a stiff smile crossed her features and she nodded her head politely, “You’re right, your Unholiness. It’s late and I do need to be up early. Thank you so much for reminding me.” She pulled away from him as a silence fell between them for a moment; he dropped his hand and stepped away from her, gesturing to the door. She began to walk away but then turned and, bowing quickly, she said curtly, “Have a good evening, your Unholiness.” Before disappearing out of the door and into the hallway, her footsteps fading fast down the stone hall.

       He stood there with his whiskey snifter in his hand and his other hand hanging limply by his side as he felt a smile slide across his face. His smile grew into a chuckle and soon he found he was openly laughing at himself. He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he went back over to the bar cabinet and poured himself another drink. His laughter kept returning as he sat down in his chair by the fireplace, swirling his glass and gazing into his depths, he asked aloud, “Am I getting old? I think I just got turned down.” He sipped his whiskey this time, instead of shotgunning it down. He swirled the snifter again and again as he sat in front of the fireplace, laughing at himself. He sighed, remembering the last time he’d been rejected: he’d been a stupid young kid and she had been old enough to be his Mother. He laughed at the memory, he laughed at himself, and as he finished his drink, he placed the snifter on the table next to his chair. He stared into the flames in the fireplace, watching them dance around each other merrily, a drunken smile plastered on his face as he fell asleep.


	7. Cashmere Blankets and Coffee

_Sweden_

_March 5th, 1975_

_6:43 AM_

 

      The sun had come up slowly that morning. She watched it peeking through the windows as she walked silently through the halls from her shared quarters. She walked past empty rooms and the library, which was silent and cold at this hour. The only presence was that of one silent ghoul far to the back of the library, cloistered away in the Clergy Only section. She did not disturb him, nor did she think he even knew she had walked through on her way to her duties. She walked to the top of the stairs and into the hallway, approaching the door to his Unholiness' quarters. She had not been given a key and so she simply knocked; she waited for several seconds, rocking back and forth gently on the balls of her feet. She bit her bottom lip as she debated knocking again. She raised her hand and rapped her knuckles on the door once more, the sound echoed through the hallway as though it were the only sound allowed to exist in that vacuum of a moment. Ellinor began to worry. She knew his Unholiness expected his coffee at a certain time and it was closely becoming the delivery time for the tray from the kitchens.

      She sighed to herself and knocked once more. Hearing nothing within the office, she steeled herself and began to push the door open. She peeked inside as the door cracked open: his Unholiness was nowhere to be seen and with that she let out the breath she’d been holding. She pushed the door the rest of the way open and slipped inside, allowing it to shut behind her gently. She walked silently across his office and to the desk. Her footsteps were soft on the stone floors as she passed by the grand piano placed perfectly in the center of the room. The, obviously antique, oriental rug under it was a beautiful dark emerald green and it made the black piano stand out on its own.

      She walked towards the desk and saw the papers littered everywhere on it: some in piles, some not, and she began to move them away to make room for the tray from the kitchens. As she began to organize them she could hear a soft whirring noise coming from her left, almost like breathing or snoring. She swallowed audibly and turned her head to the source: the fireplace had long gone out, the smoldering charred remains of logs sat completely still and grey and in the high backed wing chair, there sat his Unholiness. His legs were out stretched before him and his head was lulled to the right, resting against the wing of the chair and his own shoulder. Ellinor walked over as quietly as she could and saw that his glass was half full of what appeared to be melted ice. She bit her bottom lip once more, worrying it in her teeth.

      Looking around the room, she saw a decorative cashmere blanket draped over a chaise lounge and she walked over to grab it. As quietly and gently as she could, she walked back over to his Unholiness and laid the blanket over him. He sniffed in his sleep and readjusted in the chair, moving his head to the other side. Ellinor pulled away and clenched her teeth together as she stepped back as silently as possible. Distantly, she heard a knock on the door and remembered the coffee. She walked over to the door and opened it to find a scullery worker at the door with the tray of coffee and the newspaper. Ellinor thanked them with a silent nod of her head: the scullery worker said nothing and simply handed the tray off, turning around and leaving as quickly as they had appeared.

      The time was 7:09 AM and Ellinor was placing the coffee and newspaper down on the desk. She placed the saucer down and then the cloth napkin down on top of it; the cup upside down on the napkin, so that no dust or debris got into the cup before his Unholiness would want to pour coffee into it. She arranged the paper to be open on the front page next to the coffee pot, which sat up steaming away on its cast iron hot plate. His Unholiness continued to sleep in his chair, oblivious to Ellinor’s motions and movements in his quarters as she began to put away his whiskey decanter and snifters. The soft tinkling sound of glass hitting glass echoed gently through the room. As she placed the decanter back in its place, she noticed that the ice chiller had been left uncovered and the ice inside had melted: now it was simply water. Picking the ice chiller up she dumped the water out into the bathroom sink and placed the now empty ice chiller on the tray that the coffee had arrived on, to be taken back down to the kitchen later.

      Ellinor checked the time on the clock over the mantelpiece, noticing that it was 7:24 and the coffee pot on the desk was no longer steaming away happily. She turned and looked at his Unholiness, still asleep in his chair. She walked over to him, her hands clasped in front of her, she spoke loudly and clearly, “Good morning, your Unholiness.” He did not shift or move, only taking a moment to grunt incoherently and then crack open one eye. He looked around the room; his gaze roving from the burnt out fireplace to his, now empty and cleaned, accent table and then to Ellinor standing to his right. Her hands were folded in front of her as she looked down, directly at him.

      “I have your coffee and your newspaper ready for you at your desk, your Unholiness.” She bowed stiffly and turned away, back to the desk, pulling his chair out for him. He opened his other eye and looked around the room in earnest for the first time. He sat up, his hands catching the cashmere blanket that belonged on the back of the chaise lounge, as it fell off of his shoulders and into his lap. He didn’t think anything of it as he opened both his eyes wide for a moment, only to look down and see that his sunglasses had fallen off in his sleep. He quickly grabbed them and put them back on, shaking himself a bit as he did so. He cleared his throat and reached up to adjust his shirt and jacket. He stood up and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, stopping suddenly as he remembered he was being watched.

      “Very good,” he looked at the coffee pot and the newspaper on his desk, everything neatly laid out, his chair ready for him, “You are dismissed for the rest of the day. Thank you.” His voice was stern and tense as he spoke, his throat felt tight as his voice crawled its way out. Ellinor bowed her head silently and walked out of the office, the door shutting behind her quietly. He let out the breath he had been holding and walked over to his desk; sitting down into his chair, he wheeled it closer to the desk and leaned on it. His eyes scanned the newspaper, but he wasn’t in the mood for that; he pushed it away. Instead, he reached for the coffee, but midway he stopped himself. He noticed the way it was all laid out, how the cup was upside down on the cloth napkin on the saucer. The way the paper was folded so neatly, proudly displaying the front page. How all the files from the day before were all ordered in simple piles again, obviously she had reorganized them all back after he had pawed recklessly through them. He squinted at the chair he’d been seated in all night, noticing now the cashmere blanket on it, which had been draped across him. His hand was held outstretched towards the coffee pot; his mind whirring a mile a minute as he processed the neatness of it all. He shook his head, blinking a couple times, as though that would clear his mind. He turned his cup right-side up and poured the coffee. He paused for a moment after taking a sip, only to reach for the newspaper and quickly flipped to the finance section.


	8. The Ritual and the Man

_Sweden_

_March 5th, 1975_

_7:47 AM_

 

       Ellinor had left his Unholiness’ office with brisk, lithe steps; walking quietly down the circular stairs, down to the third level. She paused here for only a moment, to adjust a vase on a pedestal which was pushed off center, just before she carried on; heading for the main entry foyer. She found herself reveling in the fact that she had been dismissed for the day; having no duties till the next morning was a rare treat. Even though she knew the following morning she would once again lay out his Unholiness’ coffee and paper. She felt the rare presence of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth but she pushed it away diligently. Walking down the tight staircase she turned a corner as those smaller stairs intersected with the larger, grand staircase which went down to the main entry hall; its beautiful marble steps shone in the morning sunlight. The sunlight itself quavered on the white marble as it came in through the ancient glass of the lofty windows above. Windows, Ellinor noticed, that hadn’t been cleaned properly in a long, long time.  

        As she walked down the last two steps a group of children walked past her, all of them were wearing white server robes and had black circles of ash painted around their eyes. Some of them were whispering to one another, giggling, talking, and some were silent and stared straight ahead. Ellinor stopped walking immediately and bowed her head as the Abbess shepherding the children walked past. She took a step back and clasped her hands in front of her, her head bowed and her eyes downcast to the marble floor. She waited for the group to walk by. The sounds of many feet walking in unison soon passed her and disappeared out of the foyer and down the hall. After they had gone from view, and earshot, Ellinor walked away in the other direction. She headed towards the library, knowing this time of day it would likely be devoid of visitors.

       It didn’t take long to walk from the large entry hall down to the huge wing that was the library and the archive. The space itself had well over 10 million volumes and that was not including the ancient tomes and scrolls locked away from the general congregation in the Clergy Only section, or in other possibly unknown hiding places. She walked through the heavy, two story wooden doors, which stood propped open in a welcoming gesture. She saw that she was indeed, alone, for the exception of the Overseer: Alpha Ghoul, the one who cared for the library and the archive. But, in the end, he was just a curator tending to his collection. He was uninterested in the visitors which came to his garden of antiquated and venerable knowledge and, if permitted, would dodge any questions or queries. Instead, preferring to wait for the cover of nightfall to emerge and work on whatever it was he did there. Though, not many Sisters and Brothers of Sin knew what it was he did in the dead of night, or what he kept in the locked archival room in the back. Ellinor had spoken to him once, when she was very young, he had advised her to read a certain book on the history of the Church and its architecture. She remembered his hands being very warm when he handed it to her. It was the only time she had ever interacted with him, let alone spoke with him, ever again.

       She wandered through the shelves, looking them up and down; always marveling at how many books they held, how much knowledge these shelves had that she may not ever have. She loved the way the books just went on and on and up and up, towards the high, custom painted cathedral ceiling. She let her hands drag across leather and cloth spines and still others made with a dangerously suspicious looking material. She read the titles and found herself pulling down the ones that had no authors and no titles; just simple and plain spines with nothing written, no indicator of who had a hand in its creation or what the creation might even be. She opened the front covers, looking for any sort of clue as to what it was, but the books author, and subsequently all the authors hard work and efforts, were now lost to time. Ellinor spent hours doing this. She walked in between the shelves and delved from one to the other, bouncing back and forth, regardless of subject. One minute it seemed she was in classic literature and the next she was in mathematics and yet still, one more step, and she found herself in something else far more dangerous and fascinating. Books with black covers and no names, some written in a scrawl that was entirely unknown to her; looking more like symbols then actual words.

       Ellinor was seated on the floor and had two books laying next to her when she heard it: the gonging of the ritual bells high in the center tower. They clanged once, twice, and then a third time. It was the signal that all members of the Emeritus Church knew well. She wasted no time and placed the books back on the shelf, promising herself she’d come back and put them away. She stood up quickly and dusted herself off, pressing her hands against her black habit and pushing it down, trying to get the creases out of the fabric as she walked very quickly to the main chapel.

       Exiting the library, she walked out into the main foyer, blending in with the majority of the crowd. Brothers and Sisters of Sin mingling this way and that, chatting with one another quietly, laughing loudly and jostling one another as they walked. Their footsteps were heavy and echoed off of the marble floors and their chatter bounced off of the high glass windows; holding the main doors open for everyone were two imposing Ghouls, they stood like statues. Ellinor walked with the large group to the chapel, but as they reached the doors, she carefully placed herself outside the main group. She stood off the stone walkway, in the snow, allowing everyone to walk past her and into the chapel. She stared down at her feet, her hands clasped in front of her once more. She stood silently, along with two more Ghouls, who were holding the doors of the chapel open.

       The herd of people streamed into the chapel, hundreds of them, one after another after another. Some of them came running from other areas of the property, out of breath and rushing into the still propped open doors. Ellinor was joined silently by three others and they all four stood still and quiet, their gazes directed at the snow beneath their feet, as the chapel filled up. The cold winter air biting at them and pushing at their habits, the snow around their feet beginning to soak through the fabric of their shoes. Ellinor clenched her teeth together as she bore the brunt of the icy wind; her jaw tense and her eyes squeezed shut as the harsh gale gnashed at her face. As the wind lulled, the last stragglers went scampering into the chapel with the closing, deep sounds of the huge bells in the main tower. Ellinor and the other Bond Servants standing next to her walked through the doors that the two Ghouls were holding open. Just as the group was inside, the Ghouls allowed the doors to slam shut behind them.

       The chapel was a colossal building. It had row after row of pews running along four junctures. There were three aisles: two on the sides and one down the middle, the middle one was twice the size of the other two aisles. The majority of the congregation were in the pews. The Unholy Mothers and Fathers, the Abbots and Abbesses were all up front, along with the unaffiliated initiate children, who were seated on the floor right before the dias; as though they were some sort of sacrificial offering. Ellinor watched as the Ghouls who had been holding the doors went to their usual spots. Most of them were simply fixtures to act as crowd control, standing along the back of each section of pews and some of them along the side aisles and walkways, looming just out of sight and just out of mind.

       The other Bond Servants sat down in the very back of one section of pews, wherever they could find a seat. Squeezing in next to the other Sisters and Brothers of Sin, though none of them acknowledged the Bond Servants presence, let alone made their sitting in that spot easily done. Ellinor elected to stand at the back, as she had always done, despite how her feet ached and screamed for her to sit down. The ritual was always a long, drawn out affair, usually lasting at least an hour and a half. Standing through that was difficult, but it was better then squeezing in with the rest of the congregation. A congregation that certainly didn’t want a Bond Servant to sit amongst them. Though, over the years, she’d noticed that she was never really completely alone standing at the back. She often noticed that Alpha and Omega, his Summun Unholiness Nihil’s personal Ghouls, lingered in the shadows by the confessionals. Omega always leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his leg jiggling: he obviously had other things he’d rather be doing. His brother, Alpha, simply standing with his legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back: never moving, never fidgeting, reservedly staring ahead like a statue. Sometimes Ellinor would notice them whispering to each other. Sometimes she could overhear them speaking in some foreign tongue that she did not recognize; though, she had to admit, it sounded neither warm nor welcoming.

       Ellinor did not lean on the column she was standing next to. She just stood, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes downcast; waiting. The room had a gentle buzz of talking and excitement to it, but even that died down as soon as Papa Nihil stepped up onto the dais. He did not have to speak loudly and his soft voice carried easily over the crowd. Ellinor did not look up at him, she only vaguely listened, as she always had. She turned her head just enough, and looked at the two elder Ghouls. They were whispering to each other, though from behind their masks she couldn’t tell what, whether it was something amusing, angering, or anything in between. Omega continued to jiggle his knee as he leaned against the wall and Alpha readjusted his stance every so often, sometimes looking down and picking off a piece of stray lint from his uniform.

       She sighed and looked away from them. Finally, she looked up at the dais where Nihil stood in the front of the vast chapel: his arms raised as he spoke, his words obviously being directed at the unaffiliated initiates. They sat at his feet, fascinated by every word and movement. Their eyes were wide with wonder, some of them had their mouths hanging open as they watched and listened. Ellinor’s gaze glanced over them and she remembered when she was sitting with them, wearing the same white robes and had the black ash around her eyes. She remembered when Papa Nihil spoke to her in much the same way; her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with all the things he promised.

       Ellinor sighed to herself and looked up again momentarily. Papa Nihil was still speaking, his face was the picture of excitement: his eyebrows were raised as he spoke, a gentle smile ran across his face and his eyes were wide. Ellinor was not paying attention to what he said and she found herself staring beyond him. Behind him sat Sister Imperator, she was stiff backed with a fake smile plastered on her face as she watched the unaffiliated initiates, her legs crossed at her ankles; the white pencil skirt that she wore was taught across her thighs. She radiated a false kindness and exuded an urge to leave: she did not seem interested at all in anything that was being said.

       To Sister Imperator’s right sat his Unholiness, Papa Emeritus the Second. Ellinor saw that he had on his full regalia: the skull paint, the chasuble, the staff, the mitre, and his shoes were polished to a perfect shine. He sat upright and straight backed in his chair, his vision casting out across the congregation, ever watchful and strict. This time he had no sunglasses on to block his mismatched eyes. He was not watching his father speak, his vision was scanning the crowd. Ellinor found herself transfixed. She’d seen him before, of course, but this was different somehow. Now having seen him up close and having woken him from his drunken slumber earlier that day, having organized the mess of paperwork covering his desk, and set up his morning coffee, she found that she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. She kept watching him as he watched the crowd, he didn’t look bored or uninterested. He looked commanding and, if she hadn’t been closer to him, if she hadn’t seen what he really was, she might have been terrified. She watched closely as his mismatched eyes scanned the room, from the front to the back, and then from the left of the congregation to the right. One dark brown eye and one white eye, roving over the whole of the Emeritus Church, all crowded together in one building.

       She looked down at her hands for a moment, readjusting as she stood alone at the back of the room. Her feet were beginning to hurt, but she refused to sit down somewhere. She would not squeeze in with everyone else. She’d done it before and she would never do it again. She bit her lip and worried it between her teeth as she looked up once more, this time looking up directly into the mismatched eyes of his Unholiness, Papa Emeritus the Second. He did not break eye contact with her. He squinted for a moment, twirling his staff with his right hand, his left hand drumming his fingers on the chair he was seated on. He did not blink as he stared at her. Ellinor felt as though she should look down or away, but she couldn’t. She stared ahead and kept her gaze locked on his mismatched eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her, an obvious challenge to look away. But after having cleaned up two days worth of his messes, reorganized his filing cabinet, set up his morning coffee and laid out his paper, Ellinor knew now, after all the gossip and the rumors, that Papa Emeritus the Second was just a man.


	9. Chatter In the Skull

_Sweden_

_March 5th, 1975_

_8:13 PM_

 

      The steam from the sink clouded the mirror in front of him. With one swift stroke he wiped it away with the palm of his hand. His reflection in the mirror was still covered in his hard earned, traditional skull paint of the Emeritus church. He leaned on the black marble counter top, his knuckles pushing down onto the stone, his vision fixed at his own form in the mirror. His mismatched eyes, trademark to his family lineage, stared back at him over the hot running tap. He shook himself, grabbing for the rag to his left and running it under the water. He began to scrub at the skull paint. He rubbed the hot rag along the lines on his face, every so often rinsing it off under the hot running tap; watching the way the black paint ran off into the sink and swirled down the drain. He did this repeatedly. Methodically. Moving with measured practice and rhythm. He’d done this a thousand times before.

      He’d been doing this for years. As he scrubbed here and there with the rag, he remembered watching his elder brother put on his own skull paint. He remembered sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching with intense interest as his brother talked to him while he applied the paint. Telling him how much pressure to use here or there, how to get straighter lines on his skin, how to make it look just right. He smirked at the memory. His elder brother was now considered retired, and surely, was not bothered with skull paint anymore. Papa muttered to himself out loud, “Aldo is too concerned with his hedge maze and his garden now.” He chortled gently, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in the slightest smile. But they dispersed soon enough. He continued washing his face, freeing it of any residual paint. The steam in the bathroom roiled above his head as he turned the tap off, the water stopping in an instant. He walked towards the door and turned the handle, pushing it open with the greatest of ease; the steam billowed out of the bathroom and into his private quarters.

      He wandered around in his towel, still wrapped around his waist, as he walked from the bathroom to his bed. The bottoms of his feet sticking to the wood floors slightly, still damp. He checked the time on the clock and rubbed his face with both hands. He was tired. The day had been long and the night before had not been a restful sleep in his office chair. He squinted at the clock, his brow furrowed in thought. It only took him a moment to go from his private quarters to his office, which was adjacent. Still in only his bath towel, wrapped carefully around his waist, he opened the door to his office in one quick movement. But she was not there. He sighed in relief, remembering the way she'd held his gaze at the Ritual. How she had not looked away, or to her credit, even down to her feet as she usually did. He ran his tongue along his front teeth in thought. 

      “It seems like she’s always here.” He whispered to himself, shaking his head as he walked over to his desk: it was still covered in the same paperwork mess he’d left it in that morning before the ritual, after he’d dismissed her. He sighed, filing through it all quickly, “Doesn’t matter, if I leave it here she’ll fix it tomorrow.” He pulled away from the papers and walked over to the wooden liquor cabinet, pulling out the whiskey decanter once more and a glass. He placed them both on the desk, pulling the cap out of the decanter and pouring the amber liquid into his glass. He picked it up and swirled it around for a moment before downing it entirely in one gulp. He looked around the room, noticing how clean and neat it was, almost for the first time. He walked over to the piano and ran his hand across the top: no dust. He furrowed his brow once more. Then walked over to his books placed carefully on their shelves, again, no dust. He shook his head, “Did she dust? Did housekeeping do this? They never do this.” He whispered to himself.

      He walked around his office, inspecting area after area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He could only find things well organized and dusted and cleaned off. The clock on the mantelpiece was dust free and even dark wood of the mantelpiece it sat on was clean and smooth and polished, more so then it had been in years. He grumbled to himself, “She’s like housekeeping but worse: she’s elbow deep in all my paperwork.” He sniffed indignantly and stalked over to the filing cabinets. Upon opening the first one he immediately noticed a difference: every divider had a subject name and date. They were all cleaned out and trim, nothing was out of line, everything was organized perfectly. He ran his hands along the files, noticing how everything within the file itself was organized by date, oldest at the back, newest at the front. He looked around the room for a moment in silence, his mouth slightly ajar, “Did she do all this?” He slammed the cabinet drawer shut and opened the other one: the same situation presented itself. He opened another drawer and it was the same. Finally, he shut the last drawer and pulled away, walking back his whiskey. He poured himself another drink and stared at the filing cabinets as he swirled the liquid in the glass, thinking.

      “She’s actually doing her job.” He said as he sighed to himself, downing the whiskey once again in one gulp, “Unlike every single one of her predecessors.” Even alone, speaking only to himself, he had a sarcastic bite to his voice. He flopped down into his office chair, turning back and forth gently as he sat in it, thinking. He found himself wondering why she was there, why Imperator would give her to him, why she didn’t talk, it didn’t make any sense. It was a mystery but mysteries were his favorite games. He sat up and began to pace the room, whiskey glass in hand, towel still about his waist. If it fell off he probably wouldn’t even notice or care, but as it were, it hung on tightly. He muttered to himself as he paced the room, his bare feet sticking to the wood flooring as he walked.

      “Bond Servants are essentially slaves, so why send her to me?” He whispered to himself, wondering what Imperator’s game was. He riddled it over and over and over, thinking out every possible route or path of logic that would, or could, make sense. The early night waned into late night and soon he found himself putting his whiskey glass on the tray, on the top of the wooden cabinet, feeling just the fringes of intoxication. He knew he couldn’t get much farther in decoding the riddle that night. He kept thinking about it though. Long after he’d put his glass down and turned out the lights of his office. As he dragged himself into his private chambers and shut and locked the door to the office, he kept thinking about it, he kept thinking about her: _why was she there, why did Imperator send her, what business did a Bond Servant have in his realm?_ As he rid himself of his towel and crawled into his bed, the darkness enveloping him, he did not find sleep quickly. Instead, he stared at the ceiling in the dark and wondered about all the loose ends this created. After all, he hated loose ends.


	10. An Inquiry

_Sweden_

_March 6th, 1975_

_9:12 AM_

 

      He was still drinking coffee. The rustling of the paperwork he was looking over seemed to echo through the room. Ellinor was seated on the floor, surrounded by files and piles and papers. She never spoke to herself while she worked, preferring silence as the medium in which she would operate. He watched her, glancing at her every so often, from the corner of his vision. Her eyes were fixed on the paperwork in her lap. Every couple of minutes she would move a piece of paper to either the discard pile or another pile, though he had no idea what it meant. She seemed to have her own rhyme or reason to things.

      The early morning sun was filtering in through the broad, high window; motes of dust caught in the light, filtering down to the floor. His coffee was getting cold and he was getting tired of signing his name to the bottoms of paperwork he’d never see again. He found himself glancing over at her every so often, watching the way she worked in silence; never looking up at him, never starting a conversation and certainly never commenting on anything she saw. He kept finding himself distracted. Finally, he downed the last of his coffee and placed the cup on its saucer with a soft _clink_. He pushed his chair back, the wheels rolling on the wooden floors gently. His footsteps were firm and purposeful as he walked over to her, his hands in his pockets. He noticed the way she stiffened up when he approached. The way she watched him from the corner of her eye, wary: like an animal.

      “I went through this first filing cabinet last night.” He said as he walked up to it and placed his hand gently on its side, tapping the wood lightly with his fingers as he spoke. Ellinor began to push the paperwork on her lap off and onto the floor as she stood, brushing her habit off as she did so; though, her vision never rose to meet his. She said nothing. He chuckled dryly, “You can speak to me, I know you can. I saw you at the Ritual yesterday. We made eye contact for a solid minute.” She blinked several times, but continued to look at the floor. He bent down slightly so as to catch her gaze which was so firmly planted on the floor.

      “Yes, I,” she paused and looked up at him sharply, her eyes wide, “I apologize, your Unholiness. I didn’t mean to unsettle you. I was just focused on the Ritual.” She gripped her hands together tightly in front of her. He raised an eyebrow.

      “Focused on the Ritual?” He smirked, “My father was speaking at the Ritual, not me. I just happened to be there.” He balled his hand into a fist and rapped the wooden filing cabinet with his knuckles. She said nothing. A moment of silence passed between them, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time, until he pulled away from the filing cabinet and opened the top most drawer.

      “Tell me how you did it.” He gestured to the files with an open palm, “I noticed that much of my paperwork was gone, I’m sure you found a lot to throw in the furnace.” As he spoke she blinked rapidly, looking between him and the filing cabinet, “But I also noticed that what was left was all organized, from the oldest dates to the most recent ones. Care to show me the method to your, obviously, incredible skill?” Her vision jumped from him to the filing cabinet once more, her mouth opening slightly and then shutting with a clink of her teeth. Her hands finally unlatched from one another and she rubbed the palms of them flat against her habit. She licked her lips before she spoke.

      “I only completed this one, your Unholiness. I haven’t finished the rest,” she paused, searching for the right words, “but from a quick survey this one had the most documents that needed to be brought to the archive.” She held her head up straight as she spoke; her lips were pressed together tightly. He nodded, pushing one hand into his pocket.

      “The archive?” He asked simply, his eyebrows raised. She nodded.

      “Many of the documents were from your predecessor, and some even from his predecessor. Some of them may be of great historical importance to the Church, but of no particular use to your Unholiness.” She stood perfectly still, staring directly at him as she spoke. He stood up straight, placing his other hand into his other pants pocket as he began to walk around the room at a slow pace: one foot in front of the other, heel to toe. Ellinor stood by the filing cabinets, watching him carefully.

      “Tell me,” he said finally, as he rounded his desk and walked towards the clock on the mantelpiece, “where did you hone such highly efficient organizational techniques?” He faced away from her, opening the glass on the face of the clock, reaching up with his right hand to readjust the arms of the clock manually.  

      “This is all I’ve ever done, your Unholiness.” She said. He hummed as he closed the glass face of the clock.

      “And that is?” He said as he turned to face her, his right hand back in his pocket as he continued his slow walk around the office. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The air in the room was very still. The only sound now was that of his shoes on the wooden floors and the soft ticking of, the now adjusted, clock.

      “Clean.” Her voice was tight and sharp. He turned to face her with a curious look spread across his features.

      “I see.” His voice was low as he spoke, a flash of a smirk spread across his features as he gestured to her with an outstretched gloved hand, “I was merely curious.” He noticed the way she tensed when she spoke; the way she seemed to get lockjaw at the wrong times. The room was heavy with a silence that did not wish to be broken but soon Ellinor bowed her head and cleared her throat, “I have other duties to attend to your Unholiness. If you’ll excuse me?” He said nothing, but turned away from her and vaguely gestured to the door. As he walked back to his desk he heard her footsteps quickly rushing to the exit, the door opening and shutting with a clatter. He sat in his desk chair, the springs squealing with delight as he returned to them and leaned back in the plush leather chair. He folded his gloved hands over his lap and turned his chair to face the filing cabinets. He sighed.

      “She didn’t tell me her organizational method,” he muttered to himself, “she also didn’t ask for permission. She just left. Curious, indeed.” He sat in his chair for some time and stared out the large window, watching the way the early afternoon sun tried to trickle in through the overcast clouds.


	11. No Excuses

_Sweden_

_March 6th, 1975_

_7:33 PM_

 

      She hadn’t eaten anything all day. In her pocket she had squirreled away an apple and two slices of bread. After her discussion with his Unholiness that morning she had been rattled and felt the need to flee, to hide, to get away from his prying questions. So she ran. She ran to the only place she knew she could truly hide: the library. No one bothered her here. She was free to sit down and read whatever she wished, or even put books back where they belonged. After all, no one ever bothered to put them away for themselves, they just left that job for her, for Bond Servants. That was her job: to clean.

      She found herself slamming books down onto shelves. Pushing others out of the way more forcefully than before; she was agitated. Though, she couldn’t put her finger on why. She picked at the bread in her pocket, its hard crust peeled off in her hands reluctantly. She figured she’d save the apple for later, when she was successfully hidden away in her dorm. She was back in the mostly unlit shelves of the library, very close to the Clergy Only section, putting books back that she’d found laying about. The setting sun was just tipping down over the horizon outside; it cast a beautiful deep purple and red hue over the room through the ancient glass windows. For a moment she turned and stared directly into it, she sighed, wondering what that far off horizon looked like up close. She reached into her pocket and grabbed another handful of crusty, thick bread and shoved it into her mouth most ungraciously.

      “You are forbidden from eating in here.” A firm voice said suddenly from the end of the corridor. Ellinor looked up from the book she’d been placing back into its slot on the shelf and was met with the cold eyes of the Abbess Svea. The Abbess voice always cracked like a whip through whatever room she was in, no matter what she was saying. Ellinor finished chewing the pieces of bread she had in her mouth and swallowed. She turned to face the Abbess and bowed her head, her hands coming together to clasp firmly in front of her as she did so.

      “Forgive me, Abbess Svea.” Ellinor's voice was almost a whisper as she spoke. She looked down at the marble floors, her eyes fixed on a pattern in the stone as she heard the Abbess walking towards her quickly, her shoes smashing down onto the floor with a ferocious speed.

      “No excuse?” The Abbess’ voice was cutting and loud. Several people which still lingered in the library had begun to scuttle away.

      “I was unable to get to my scheduled meal today, I had no time-” The Abbess cut her off with a wave of her hand and a heavy sigh.

      “Had no time? No time in between doing what, hmmm? Running errands for his Unholiness? I know what your new position is. I was informed by Sister Imperator herself, with a rather stern letter, stating that you were now the sole assistant to Papa Emeritus the Second himself!” The Abbess looked Ellinor up and down once before continuing, he eyes were wide, “Imagine my surprise: a Bond Servant, the assistant to his Unholiness himself. I _wonder_ whatever could you be doing for him? Hmmm?” She tapped her foot on the marble floor, her voice was echoing off of it and everyone who had been in the area was now scared off, “So tell me, Bond Servant Ellinor, why are you carrying bread in your pocket and eating it in the library if you are only completing, what I’m sure are _simple tasks,_ for his Unholiness?” Her voice dripped in sarcasm. Her smile on her face was wide and cruel. Her long graying brown hair was pulled up in a tight bun on the top of her head, her hands on her hips as she leaned forward, very close to Ellinors' face, “I’m waiting for an excuse.” She raised her eyebrows at Ellinor, her eyes still wide behind her glasses, which were perched carefully on her nose.

      Ellinor clenched her jaw, her voice was taught in her throat, she felt her eyes beginning to sting, “I had to reorganize his Unholiness’ paperwork. I’ve been working on a better system for-” The Abbess shook her head, letting out a deep chuckle as she did so. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back as she spoke, “Reorganizing his paperwork? Really? That’s why you missed lunch and are now eating bread out of your pocket in the library that you know full well you’re not supposed to be eating in at all?” Ellinor said nothing, she simply clenched her jaw and ground her teeth together. She looked down at the floor, trying to tune out the Abbess’ speech. Ellinor’s attempt at avoidance was not to be complete, as it was interrupted by the voice of a Ghoul walking up from behind the Abbess. His tail flicked this way and that, slashing back and forth sharply, his hands were clasped behind his back and his height caused his shadow to cast across both women who stood in front of him.

      “I would be careful how I insinuated slander against his Unholiness, Abbess.” His voice was deep and rough and he moved slowly, but with great self assurance, “He would not like to hear that you are insinuating disrespect in _any form._ ” His blue eyes behind his mask were wide; they didn’t seem to even blink. The Abbess drew in a sharp breath through her nose and straightened herself up. She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head, she was beginning to sweat. She opened her mouth to speak but the Ghoul raised his hand, a single finger silencing her, “I am not interested in your useless words. But know this: do not ever let me find you transgressing in this manner again. Bond Servant Ellinor is his Unholiness Papa Emeritus the Second’s to command. Not yours. Not anymore. Now, begone.” Finally, he jerked his head behind himself, indicating for her to leave; though, he did not move out of her way. She simply bowed her head, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she squeezed past him, her back against the bookcase. She obviously did not dare touch him. As she walked away down the aisle, her shoes clacking onto the marble floors, Ellinor stood perfectly still.

      The Ghoul nodded his head to her, in an almost cheery manner, and unclasped his hands from behind his back. He then turned around and simply left without another word. She noticed his tail as he walked away, its movements had subsided. He sauntered down the aisle, much more easily then how he had approached with all fire and brimstone. She gripped her hands tightly in front of her watching as he turned the corner and was soon out of view. She let out the breath she’d been holding. She stood there for some time but with the sun now completely set, the library was dark, cold and empty. She began to walk towards the exit, her footsteps echoing throughout the vast room.

      As she approached the large two story double doors she saw a shadow of a tall Ghoul darting here and there, extinguishing candles that had been left burning. He stepped out of her way very formally and gestured with his right hand to the still open doors. She began to slow her pace, thinking she should thank him for what he did, after all, he didn’t have to defend her from the Abbess. But as she approached, she realized this wasn’t the same Ghoul at all. Surely, the other one had been shorter, stockier almost, and this Ghoul wore no rings on his right hand. Ellinor squinted at him momentarily and then hurried on past him, with no word of thanks, simply a brief nod as she almost sprinted back to her quarters.


	12. Inquiries and Camaraderie

_Sweden_

_March 8th, 1975_

_10:44 PM_

 

      The library was swathed in night. The only light that pierced the darkness was the low burning candles in the sconces. The piles of books were gone, the loose paperwork was thrown out or put away, pencils and pens were all carefully back in their holders and no one was to be seen anywhere. The wind rattled against ancient glass windows and whipped at the stained glass dome in the ceiling that sat high above. The only sound now echoing throughout its great stone halls was the sound of heavy, demanding footsteps. A broad shadow, caused by the moon riding high through the tall glass windows, cast itself against the rows and rows of books lined on shelf after shelf, only to disappear quickly as its owner moved past with urgent speed. 

      The shadow moved rapidly through the library, casting itself along the shelves and tables, chairs and small floor rugs. It moved with an unnatural speed across the floor as its owner sped along quickly to the back of the library. The heavy footfalls darted in between two tall, looming shelves, that were a little bit too close together for comfort. The footfalls stopped just short of an aged and weathered door that sat tucked safely away within the stone walls. The metal handle was warped in the middle from how many hands had pushed it down over time and now one more added itself to the list of visitors, pushing the handle down, the door creaked open loudly. Inside, was a smaller rectangular room. Boxes were everywhere, piles of paper scattered on the floor, some of them laying on top of boxes, books were piled so high they looked like miniature skyscrapers, the moon causing them to cast their shadows down against the cold stone floor. The room was unlit, save for a fireplace burning at the opposite end and a soft glow coming from a hallway off to the right. 

      The heavy footfalls picked up once more and sped off towards the downward sloping hallway, the door closing shut behind them with a soft _clunk_. The warm light at the bottom of the hall was being interrupted by another shadow, working dutifully long into the night. The light kept bouncing back and forth, crisscrossing with the form, casting a shadow on the stone wall of the much smaller, rotund room; the sounds of movement echoed throughout. The heavy footfalls ceased, coming to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the hallway, inside the small rotund room. 

      “I figured I’d find you down here,” Omega’s voice echoed around the room. Alpha didn’t even look up from the books he was rifling through. 

      “And whatever can I help you with, brother?” His voice was sharp and cold, as usual. Omega smiled a wide warm grin as he walked towards his brother with lazy, gentle steps, stopping every so often to rifling through a book or glance at some paperwork. 

      “Oh I just wanted to come and visit, am I not allowed to do that anymore? Are you too busy for me now? Oh, brother, you do wound me.” He said, sighing dramatically as a smirk pulled at his mouth behind his mask; the corners of his eyes betraying his obvious amusement. Alpha looked up at his brother and squinted at him, his tail lashing this way and that. 

      “I’m not _wounding_ you, you’re fine and you know it, _little brother_.” Alpha looked back down at his books and began to pile them back into boxes. Omega laughed, that same trademark deep chortle laughter he’d always had. Alpha rolled his eyes behind his mask, sighing. 

      “I know you like to lord over me that you’re the oldest one, brother, but five seconds doesn’t really make that big of an age gap.” His tail continued to swish happily behind him as he poked through a box of old paperwork. Alpha sighed once more, putting the last book into the box and closing the lid. He picked it up and gestured for Omega to follow him as he began carrying it back up the hallway, towards the dark archival room above. Omega followed him, dragging a clawed hand along the wall as he did so, humming happily. Alpha didn’t stop walking as he spoke, “Could you not destroy the walls?” His voice was clipped and sharp but Omega simply chuckled and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

      They walked in silence up to the dark archival room above. Alpha placed the box into a corner, brushing his hands off by rubbing them together quickly, then clasped them behind his back as he walked over to the desk that sat in front of the fireplace. He leaned on the edge of it and in the dark all his brother could see was Alphas’ silhouette and a shadow, cast from the fire behind him. Omega did not pace, nor did he lean on anything, he simply stood there: feet shoulder width apart, his arms crossed over his chest.

      “So, why don’t you tell me brother, why are you really here?” Alpha’s voice was a tight whisper. Omega shifted his weight from one foot to the other in the darkened room. He changed his tone almost immediately and the playful, funny, wise cracking younger brother was gone. Omega was all business now and Alpha knew it: he watched the change. Omega cleared his throat before speaking. 

      “I am here to make an unofficial inquiry.” He said quietly, his voice low. Alpha gave a soft huff of a laugh. 

      “An unofficial inquiry? On what? What could you possibly want to make an unofficial inquiry about?” Alpha stood perfectly still as he spoke, his left eyebrow arched upwards behind his mask. Omega looked around the room for a fraction of a second, as though what he was about to say was the most secretive and important information in the world. 

      “A Bond Servant. It is a request for all the information the Church has on a Bond Servant. This request comes from his Unholiness, Papa Emeritus the Second.” Alpha drew in a sharp breath, leaning his head back as his brother spoke. He stood up from his relaxed position against the desk, his tail beginning to swish this way and that. He took several steps towards his brother, his hands clasped behind his back; they were inches apart from one another now. 

      “Omega, you know I cannot fulfill this request.” Alpha’s voice was a flat whisper. Omega did not look down, though his brother was taller than him and was now looking directly down at him, Omega did not falter. 

      “I know, brother. That’s why I said, _unofficially_.” Behind his mask Omega raised two eyebrows for emphasis at his elder brother. Alpha looked away and began to pace with his hands behind his back, his vision focused on the stone floor. He sighed sharply. 

      “I cannot do this. You know I cannot do this. I need Nihil’s permission to make any kind of inquiry, unofficial or not.” Alpha sighed and shook his head as he spoke. 

      “Why not? Why do you need to run everything by him? He’s not even technically in charge and you know it!” Omega’s voice rose as he spoke and Alpha glared at his younger sibling, his tail thrashing wildly about now. He shook his head again, his tail winding its way around his own leg as he thought. 

      “Bond Servants are the property of the Church, brother. They have no rights within the Church. They belong to the Church and thus, to Nihil himself.” Alpha sighed deeply, looking down at the floor once more, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, “No, I cannot do this thing you ask.” Omega took two steps forward and placed a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder, pulling Alpha around to look at him. Their shadows mingled on the far wall, cast onto it by the fireplace behind them. The room was deathly quiet. 

      “Why are you always so quick to lick that old fool human’s boots? He’s not the one calling the shots, he’s just a puppet.” Omega chuckled deeply, patting his brother on the shoulder warmly, “Hell, he’s almost as old as we are, and that’s only because he’s so busy playing those damned magic tricks!” Alpha scowled and pulled away from his brother's hand, shrugging it off as he went back to pacing in front of the fireplace. His tail flicking back and forth, he shook his head again. 

      “I know, and I know you’re right, I do. But I cannot disobey. This is my purpose and my purpose is to serve Nihil. I cannot give you the information you seek. I cannot break the rules at this level.” His voice was even toned but taught. Omega sighed, rolling his head back on his shoulders. He crossed his arms over his chest, his tail swishing languidly out behind him. 

      “He’s not in charge. The Old One is in charge. He always has been. Since he crafted you and me with his own hands, and since he selected Imperator and Nihil and now,” Omega held out his hand, gesturing to his brother, “you’re going to deny this request because you want to listen to a _human_? You will bow and scrape, to a _human_? Who do you serve, brother?” He took a few steps towards Alpha once more, this time looking him in the eyes. Alpha stared back but did not blink. He waited, his tail swishing behind his furiously. Omega went on, his words ringing true and honest. 

      “Nihil is unstable, brother. You know it. I know it. All humans are, but Nihil,” Omega let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Nihil is always changing! Taking on a new face and a new image every generation. Tricking people into thinking its some new management, but guess what? It’s not. It’s the same old Nihil and Imperator that have been around for thousands of years. The same as you and I: the same old watch dogs who have been around for thousands of years.” Omega stood still and silent now. Alpha could hear the crackling of the fire behind them. He turned to look at it, snapping his fingers several times and causing the flames to build up stronger. He walked back over to the desk, leaning on it with his palms flat against the wood. He looked into the flames for several long minutes. Omega simply stood idly by and waited. He leaned back against the window sill of a large stone framed stained glass window. 

      Finally, Alpha pulled himself away from his reverie. He sighed, “I know you’re right, brother. But I cannot just break the rules because they are inconvenient in this moment. That’s not what they’re for. That’s not how this works. We need rules and management and order. If I break this rule for you, for Papa, now? What other rule will he ask me to break down the road?” Alpha’s hands were now clasped firmly behind his back again, but his tail betrayed him, swishing along gently, unsure. Omega walked over to Alpha and pulled his brother’s mask towards his own, their foreheads touching. His words were a whisper as he spoke. 

      “What if I asked you to do this, to fulfill a higher plan of the Old One? What if I asked you to do this to aid in the Old One's greater plan? A plan that goes beyond Nihil to a time after him.” Omega’s voice was a deep rumble as he spoke. He pushed at Alpha’s mask with his own and Alpha pushed back, “You’re my brother and you know we only have one true Father and he is _not_ Nihil.” Alpha pulled away sharply and turned to the window, staring out of one of the clear patches in the stained glass. He watched quietly and idly as the moonlight graced the snow-covered gardens. The hedge maze at he back of the grounds was covered in an eerie, heavy blanket of snow. 

      “What is the Old One's plan?” Alpha whispered to the glass window. 

      “I do not know all the details. I just know that Papa Emeritus the Second plays a part in this. I know that this Bond Servant, plays a part as well.” Omega sat on the desk as he spoke, his tail swishing gently behind him once more. The fireplace continued to crackle and pop. It was a long silence that begged not to be broken, as Alpha gazed out the small sliver of plain glass. He nodded his head and turned around. 

      “Just this once, brother, I will do this thing you ask. Now, what is it Papa Emeritus wishes to know?” He beckoned his brother to follow him and they both set off walking at a brisk pace towards the Clergy Only section of the library. Omega had a difficult time keeping up with Alpha’s long legged strides. 

      “He needs to know everything about a Bond Servant named ‘Ellinor’, he said that Imperator had sidled him with her and she is not forthcoming with information. As you can imagine, that makes him suspicious.” As they walked through the same door Omega had come in through earlier, Alpha nodded, indicating that he was indeed listening. They walked through the narrow space between the shelves and out into the main library, their shoes clicking down onto the stone floor as they turned right and headed to two large locked doors. They stood tall and strong in the darkness, the wood they were made of was ancient and had intricate scrolls and carvings all over. There were no door handles though and Alpha simply pressed the palm of his hand to one of the doors. The spot under his palm glowed a soft translucent blue color and the door began to swing open, seemingly of its own accord. 

      “Good security system, brother.” Omega let out a quiet chuckle and Alpha smiled behind his mask, despite his best efforts not to. The Clergy Only section of the library was pitch black but it didn’t matter, Alpha and Omega could see in the dark perfectly fine. Omega followed his older brother down the middle hall dutifully, as he passed by some shelves he swore he could hear whispering. But he simply shrugged it off and kept following behind, Alpha finally leading him to the back wall where a row of filing cabinets stood. All of them were kept locked. Alpha walked alongside them, muttering to himself under his breath. Omega leaned against a bookshelf, he jiggled his knee as he waited. Alpha was whispering to himself, muttering quietly as he scanned each cabinet. 

      “Found it, come over here,” Alpha said as he beckoned to Omega, who pulled himself away from the shelf he’d been leaning on and was quickly at his brothers side. Alpha was opening the cabinet drawer and filing through the hanging organizers. “We don’t have as many Bond Servants as we once did, but I do believe Ellinor was brought here in the year 1950.” Alpha said as he rifled through the files. Omega stood silent and leaned against the other filing cabinets in the dark, as Alpha filed through, muttering and talking to himself, Omega had the distinct feeling they were being watched. 

      “Why do I feel like we’re being eyeballed?” He said aloud to the darkness. Alpha continued to file as he spoke, not missing a beat, “Because we are. Many of these tomes are, for lack of a better term, alive, and they do not enjoy being disturbed.” Omega laughed, his arms crossed over his chest once more, but he did not say anything in response. He simply stood still and silent, waiting. 

      “Here we go,” Alpha stood up from his stooping position with a large file in his hands, “this is everything on Bond Servant ‘Ellinor’. The contract, the details of it, who took her in, why, everything is in here.” Alpha held it out to his brother, who took it firmly in his hands. As he did so, the gentle under current of whispering around them began to become louder. Alpha slammed the cabinet drawer shut and glared around the room, letting out a low hissing sound from between barred teeth behind his mask. The whispering began to return to a dull murmur once more and Alpha beckoned Omega to follow him out. They left the Clergy Only section and Alpha shut the door behind them with a gentle tap on the exterior wood, causing it to close of its own accord. Omega held the file in his hands; he did not open it, but instead turned to his brother and wrapped one of his arms around Alpha’s shoulders. 

      “You didn’t have to do this, big brother.” Omega said, Alpha smiling behind his mask as they walked, his tail swishing gently back and forth. 

      “I know, little brother.” Alpha reached up and patted his brother on the back. 


	13. Questions and Answers

_Sweden_

_March 10th, 1975_

_4:11 PM_

 

      Ellinor had finished organizing the mail for the day, went through one drawer of one filing cabinet, and had even gone so far as to shine his Unholiness' shoes; placing them back with great care, so as not to scuff them in the process. As she stood up she glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece, seeing that she had more time in the day, she began to turn away from the shoes and back to the filing cabinets. As she wiped her hands on her habit, the door to the office flung open and without so much of a clearing of his throat, let alone a knock, a tall masked Ghoul came in: his stride was confident and full of purpose. Ellinor looked away from him and continued on her path to the filing cabinets, she kept her head down and her mouth shut as she began to open one of the middle drawers. She started putting her hands into the files, looking through the tabs and seeing what everything was labeled. She squinted, noticing the dates. She found herself taking note of how much of this was completely irrelevant for his Unholiness to have in his office. 

      The Ghoul’s footsteps were heavy and decisive as he crossed the room with relative ease for someone of his large form and stature. He moved gracefully between the chaise lounge and the piano, as though he had done this a thousand times before. She looked up for a brief moment, just long enough to glance at his hands: he had the same rings as the Ghoul who had defended her in the library. She felt her face flush hot and she forced herself to look down into the files. Now simply rifling through them absently, hoping and praying to whatever would listen that the Ghoul said nothing about their previous encounter. The Ghoul walked closer to the desk that his Unholiness was seated behind, reading documents and letters here and there, his glasses perched on the end of his nose precariously. The Ghoul stopped just one meter from the edge of the large, imposing wooden desk and clasped his hands in front of him, his feet planted shoulder width apart: he was carrying a large manila envelope, obviously filled with paperwork. The Ghoul was silent but held up the envelope with one hand. His Unholiness looked up and silently removed his glasses, placing them down flat on his desk; he rubbed his eyes with his left hand.

      “You are dismissed for the day, cara.” As he pulled his hand away from his eyes, he nodded to her silently and she nodded in return, closing the filing cabinet drawer with a gentle push. She placed her hands in the pockets of her habit as she walked by the Ghoul, standing perfectly still just in front of the desk. She looked up momentarily, only to see the Ghoul’s eyes following her as she walked towards the door. Casting her eyes to the floor quickly, she headed for the door to the office and was soon through it and out into the hall; the sounds of her soft footsteps echoing quietly as she sped away. 

      The room was enveloped in silence; for the exception of the clock ticking peacefully on the mantelpiece and the sounds of paperwork rustling as Papa piled everything into a heap, placing it on the left hand side of his desk. The Ghoul did not move. He simply stood, back straight, hands in front of him, clasping the paperwork in the envelope tightly. Papa reached his hand out silently and the Ghoul nodded, handing the envelope over. 

      “This is everything,” Omega said plainly, laying the file on the large desk that sat imposingly in the center of the room. Papa picked up the file and thumbed through it absently; he sighed. 

      “This is it?” Papa looked up at Omega, his mouth a straight, tight line and his eyes boring, unblinkingly, into the Ghoul in front of him. Omega nodded. 

      “Alpha helped me find it, if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t have found anything at all.” He let go of the breath he was holding. Papa simply looked away from him, pulling out the rest of the paperwork from the envelope and spreading it out on his desk. He leaned back in his chair; the springs squeaking with age as he did so. He tapped his right index finger on the, now empty, envelope. 

      “And, pray tell, why wouldn’t you have found it without him?” Papa asked softly, his voice a gravelly whisper. Omega did not shift his weight, he did not move an inch, his hands still tightly folded together behind his back; his feet remained shoulder width apart. 

      “With all due respect, Papa, but this paperwork is considered,” he looked around the room for a moment, his sharp blue eyes rolling in his head as he thought, “it is considered private, or locked, information. As Bond Servants belong wholly to the Church, technically, Alpha shouldn’t have even spoken to me about, let alone given it to me.” Papa nodded and hummed, flipping through the pages as he listened. 

      “Where did Alpha find this, Omega?” Papa asked, his eyes still on the paperwork and not on the Ghoul in front of him. Omega sighed.

      “In the Clergy Only section of the library. In some locked filing cabinets at the very back of the hall.” Papa hummed once more, obviously deep in thought. Omega stood by and waited patiently. The silence in the room descended quickly and lingered for some time, the only sound permeating it was the absent ticking of the clock and squeaking of the springs in Papa’s chair. Finally, he leaned forward and laid the paperwork on the desk. He rested his elbows on the desk as well, his hands steepled together in front of his face. His eyes scanned the papers in front of him. 

      “Was this all there was?” Papa asked. Omega nodded. 

      “Yes, Sir. This was all there was in her file.” Omega continued to stand completely still, his back straight and his eyes fixed on the man in front of him. Papa ran his tongue idly over his teeth as he thought, his fingers drumming against one another. 

      “There is no mention of her anywhere else?” Papa asked, leaning back in his chair once more; his right hand palm down on the armrest and his left supported by his elbow. He watched the Ghoul in front of him closely, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. Omega did not quake under this gaze, nor did he balk, he simply smirked behind his mask. 

      “With all due respect, Papa, but when Alpha says that’s all there is,” Omega shrugged, letting out a gentle laugh as he did so, “well, that’s all there is.” Papa nodded silently once more, turning his head to look out the large windows to his left. He watched as a dusting of snow began to fall from soft, rolling grey clouds. The tops of the distant trees swayed absently in the wind. 

      “That’ll be all then, thank you for your efforts, Omega.” Papa did not look at the Ghoul as he left. Omega bowed in silence, turned on one heel, and walked off hastily to the door. Papa continued to gaze out the window as the door to his office opened and slammed shut: the heavy wood locking it into place. He sighed, eventually pulling his gaze away from the snow and roiling clouds outside and back to the paperwork in front of him. He picked each piece up and examined it, one at a time. 

      “A bill of sale.” He whispered idly as his hands fell on a discolored, warped document. It was written with a beautiful and well practiced hand in calligraphy. He put his glasses back on, perching them on the end of his nose once more, squinting through them at the bottom of the document. At the very bottom, in a very small print was a name: Stieg Holm. 

      “Then who is this?” Papa asked himself out loud, his right index finger tapping the other name off to the side: it was not legible. He lay the document down again and leaned back in his chair once more. He reached up and removed his glasses, letting them dangle from his hand as he turned and looked out the window again. He ran his tongue over his teeth again, deep in thought. He sighed, throwing his glasses on his desk; they skittered across the paperwork and stopped just short of falling off the other side. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the large window, which looked down into the back courtyard. He watched as the snow began to pile on top of the hedge maze, all the topiary, and the large fountain in the middle of it all. He pushed his hands into his pockets. 

      He continued to look out the window and down into the garden far below, the snow was falling rapidly and was covering all in its path. The garden was soon obscured by a beautiful blanket of heavy, white snow: pristine and untouched. He leaned against the frame of the window with his shoulder, his hands still in his pockets, as he thought out loud once more, though not for the last time, “Her name was Ellinor Holm and she was sold, like chattel. By her own Father.” He shook his head, “Why would anyone willingly sell their child into slavery?” He continued to look out of the window, deep in thought, watching the sun dip beyond the horizon and covering the land in a cloak of darkness. 


	14. Assumptions

_Sweden_

_March 11th, 1975_

_5:06 AM_

 

      The morning sun peaked in, gently at first, just slowly making its way across the cold stone floor. The light came creeping in from under the door to her shared quarters; it began to push its way across the floor, further and further into the room, as the sun outside rose higher in the morning sky. The pitter-patter sounds of feet couldn’t be heard quite yet. As most of the Sisters in the dormitory were still asleep and would not wake for at least another two hours. But their schedules were of no concern to Ellinor, when finally, the light touched on her face: she shifted around under her covers, trying to evade the intrusive light. Her eyes cracked open slightly, feeling the warmth on her face from the encroaching morning sun.  She rubbed her face with both hands, wishing to burrow herself back down into her blankets, where it was safe and warm. But that was nothing more than a fool's wish, and she knew it. 

      She pushed the covers back and sat up slowly, rubbing her forearms with her hands; it was cold outside of the blankets. Her quarters, shared with three other Bond Servants, were always at least freezing three seasons out of the year. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and her feet hit the thin, almost useless rug laying there. She noticed that the other three Bond Servants were still asleep and so, as quietly as possible, she began to get ready. She went over to the shared sink and brushed her teeth as silently as she could, running the water in a thin trickle. Again, she washed her face with as little water, and noise, as possible. 

     She tiptoed to the back of the room, where a small shared closet was tucked away. She began to rifle through the habits hanging on wooden hangers. All four Bond Servants shared one closet and they only had three habits each. As all the habits looked the same, they had each been responsible for sewing their own initials into the seams of their own habits, so as to tell them apart from one another. Ellinor took hers down, the last one and cursed herself for not putting them into the weekly laundry basket. She pulled it over her head and zipped the rest up with some careful acrobatics, bending her arm back this way and leaning backwards, trying to grab the zipper. All while trying to remain as quiet as possible. She tossed the other two habits she’d worn into the basket in the corner. 

     Walking over to the mirror in front of the sink she grabbed her hair brush and began to brush out her long, dark red hair; it flowed over her hand smoothly and through the brush gently, leaving no knots or tangles of any kind. This was one thing she took great pride in and her long hair always had a healthy, bright shine to it. But she always pulled it into a bun and hid it snugly under her white colored coif, which she then covered with her usual black headdress. She went over to her bed and sat on the very edge of it, the old rusty springs in the thin mattress squeaking terribly as she sat down to pull her black opaque stockings on and then her flat, black shoes. Nothing she wore had any adornments on it: it was all plain and simple. As she stood up and brushed herself off, getting ready to leave for the day, she heard one of her fellow Bond Servants shifting in their bed. Turning around she gave them a weak smile. They did not smile back and so she turned to leave, her hand clasped firmly on the door knob. 

     “You didn’t take the laundry basket down?” The other Bond Servant asked, her voice still groggy with sleep, her face obscured by her messy brown hair. Ellinor’s eyes darted from the basket to the other Bond Servant for just a moment. She removed her hand from the door knob and stood up straight. 

      “No, I haven’t had time this week, I apologize. I’ve been working late with his Unholiness and I-” She was cut off by the other Bond Servant, who scoffed loudly as she stood up, stretching her back, her arms in the air. 

      “Yeah, whatever, I know you’ve been _working_ for his Unholiness.” She walked quickly over to the shared sink and Ellinor moved aside for her. Listening to the rush of water from the tap. She bit her lip, her brow furrowed, “What do you mean?” She asked firmly. The other Bond Servant stood up, toothbrush in her mouth, the toothpaste foam around her lips. She rolled her eyes and spit into the sink before speaking, “No one just works for his Unholiness: everyone knows that. Don’t play stupid, Ellinor.” She turned back to the sink and rinsed her mouth out, spitting into the sink loudly. Then turned away to the closet at the back of the room. 

      “I’m not playing stupid,” Ellinor said tightly, “All I do is organize his paperwork and get him his coffee. That’s it.” She instinctively tucked her hands into the pockets of her habit. The other Bond Servant was pulling her habit over her head, sighing as she shoved her unkempt hair into her coif. 

      “Look, you can say what you like: it doesn’t really matter. But since you’re so _busy_ these days, I guess I’ll take this laundry down to the washroom myself. After all, I don’t want to keep you from your _duties_ with his Unholiness.” She rolled her eyes as she slipped on her flat shoes and picked up the laundry basket with both hands. Ellinor said nothing but reached for the old crystal door knob and turned it, pulling the door open for the other Bond Servant. Ellinor said nothing more and simply let the door close behind the other woman as she left. Ellinor listened to the other woman's footsteps disappear down the stone floored hallway. She could feel the sting of hot tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. 

      “I should have expected this,” she whispered to herself, her voice was low, not wanting to wake the other two sleeping Bond Servants on their top bunks. She took several deep breaths, standing upright as straight as she could and attempting to steel herself before exiting the room. Out of nerves, she wiped her hands on her habit once more. She looked down at her hands for a moment, noticing how pale they were and how dry and thin they seemed to be. She blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to dispel the tears that were threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. She pulled at the corner of her left eye with the back of her hand as she turned to the door knob with the other. She opened the door with more force than was necessary and felt no remorse as she allowed it to slam shut behind her. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her habit, walking quickly down the hallway, no longer concerned with sleeping of others. Her vision was fixed straight ahead of her and she grit her teeth together in defiance as she pushed her way through the double doors that let out into the side wing of the Church. 

      She walked quickly along the halls and up the stairs, the whole time her lips pressed firmly together and her jaw tightly clamped shut. It didn’t take her long to reach his Unholiness’ office and as she did, she noticed that the tray with his newspaper and coffee were already outside the door, steaming happily away. She stared at it for a moment: the urge to kick it down the hallway was overwhelming. She closed her eyes for a moment and took several deep breaths as she picked up the tray, her hands only slightly shaking, she whispered, “This is my job. This is all it is.” She stared down at the tray for a moment more as she turned her back to his Unholiness’ office and pushed the door open with her back. Admittedly, she allowed the door to slam much too loudly, but this morning of all mornings, she certainly didn’t care about that. 


	15. Skills, Talents and Gifts

_Sweden_

_March 13th, 1975_

_10:27 AM_

 

       He’d had his coffee for the morning and now his usual cup sat empty and cold on the tray on his desk; the newspaper folded up, having already been read, now discarded. The weather outside was a bright and sunny day, but the wind was kicking up, rustling the trees and shrubs down in the garden. The hedge maze's topiary moved stiffly in the firm breeze. Papa was busy rummaging through the armoire in his office, looking at his blazers and shoes, checking them for cleanliness and shine. He rubbed a gloved finger along the edge of one pair of shoes: they were spotless and cleaner then they had ever been before. He found himself raising a pleased eyebrow at that fact. On the other side of his spacious office, Ellinor was seated on the floor, making piles of paperwork from the filing cabinets that she was so hellbent on clearing out. She whispered to herself about what needed to stay and what needed to go, her lithe, skillful hands running over paper after paper. Every so often she’d shove a handful of anything unnecessary into a trash bag that sat on the ground close by. 

       Papa continued to inspect things, hoping she didn’t notice. There was a large part of him that wanted to find a reason to be rid of her, to be rid of whatever plan Imperator had imposed on him by sidling him with her. But yet another part of him was glad she was there, after all, she did her job and she did it very well. He continued to browse his various jackets and blazers hanging in the armoire, checking them for any wrinkles or dust or loose threads. He inspected them all through his reading glasses, once more perched on the end of his nose. He stopped for a moment and pulled one out, adjusted his glasses and scrutinized it closely. He eyed two of the buttons, both of which should have been broken, but here they were, repaired. He squinted as he stared at them, it was professionally done; only a trained hand would have been able to make this look as perfect as it did now in front of him. He pulled the blazer down off of its hanger and turned around and walked quickly over to Ellinor. 

      “Cara,” his voice was soft as he spoke, but she looked up sharply, her eyes wide, “did you send this to the tailor? To have these buttons mended?” He gestured to the jacket in his hands. She stared up at him for a moment, her mouth opening slightly as she began to speak; her cheeks flushing pink. She ran her tongue over her lips nervously. 

      “No, your Unholiness,” she began to stand up, as she did so, she wiped her hands on her habit, “I noticed they were broken off and I mended them myself. I apologize, if you didn’t want me to do that. Next time I can send it down to the tailor, if you’d like.” She stood in front of him now with her hands clasped tightly together, her gaze was focused on his face; her mouth was a tight, straight line. He chuckled under his breath. 

      “No, no, no,” he gently draped the jacket over the back of a nearby chair, “do not apologize, cara. You did an excellent job. Much better than the idiot tailor downstairs.” Ellinor’s cheeks flushed bright red and she looked down at the ground, allowing a small, taut smile to appear on her features. He put his hand under her chin, pulling her face up to look at him, “Where did you learn to sew like that? That was professionally done, you know.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She drew in a breath and tilted her head from side to side before she spoke.

      “I’ve always been able to sew. In the beginning it was something an older Sister of Sin taught me, when I was an uninitiated. But I kept doing it and now it is,” she paused, “it is something I am competent at.” Papa chuckled once more, turning around and picking the jacket and dusting it off briefly as he walked back over to the armoire. 

      “Competent? No, I would say, _extremely competent_.” He said as he hung the jacket back up in the armoire, shaking it out some before closing the doors. He turned on his heel, his hands slipping into his pockets as he walked slowly back over to her. She bowed her head.

      “Thank you, your Unholiness.” Her words were a little more than a whisper and her eyes were downcast to the floor, her hands still clasped in front of her tightly. She could feel the sweat building up in her palms. 

      “Don’t look down when someone compliments you, cara.” He pulled her chin back up again, forcing her to make eye contact with him, “It can be misinterpreted as being rude, you know.” He flashed her a sideways grin, obviously making a joke, but she gave a small smile and nodded her head quickly. She sat back down on the floor just as soon as he pulled his hand away from under her chin. He walked around her slowly, his footsteps gently tapping down onto the beautiful hardwood floors. 

      “Tell me, cara,” he asked, “do you embroider?” He continued to pace slowly around the room, waiting on an answer. Her hands stilled on the paperwork she was filing through, she let go of the stack of papers, letting them fall back neatly to where they had been resting. She licked her lips before she spoke. 

      “Yes, why,” she paused for a moment, as though she were about to ask the most forbidden question in all the world, “why do you ask, your Unholiness?” She watched him closely as he continued to walk around the room at a leisurely pace. He shrugged as he took off his reading glasses and tossed them onto his desk. He gestured to her with an open hand, the other still fit snugly in his pocket as he circled her. 

      “Merely a curiosity, really. You have an obvious talent in that department and it would be a shame to waste it on fixing jackets and loose threads.” He finished speaking as he stopped just in front of her, staring straight down at her, his left eyebrow raised. His gaze was a piercing one but she could not bring herself to look away. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, her knuckles white; her lips pressed together tightly. He tilted his head at her, a sideways smile on his face, “Nothing to say, cara?” She shook her head. He chuckled darkly, more to himself then to her, as he meandered his way over to the dark green curtains that hung dramatically around the large window which overlooked the gardens. 

      “Tell me, cara,” he said as he faced away from her, looking out the window, both of his hands in his pockets now, “what other hidden talents do you possess? I know about your ability to organize and now this incredible sewing technique and, although, these are truly marvels, what else are you gifted with?” He turned around and stared at her then, as she sat on the floor with her hands still tightly clenched in her lap. She looked down at her hands once more, feeling a hot flush creep up her neck. This was everything she wasn’t trained for. This was a conversation she never expected to have with any superior, let alone his Unholiness. She audibly gulped; turning her head and staring at him, her mouth simply hung open for what seemed like an appalling long length of time. Papa raised both eyebrows at her, hands still in pockets, obviously waiting for a response. 

      “With all due respect your Unholiness, none of these things are talents.” As she spoke he tilted his head to the right, a smirk appearing on his face, but she continued, “They are simply basic skills. Skills that I have worked on my entire life, here, at the Church. I do not have any actual talents. Only skills and abilities. Talents are for people such as yourself. Not a Bond Servant.” The words leaving her mouth were dry and brisk. The silence in the room was deafening but she did not look away from him: she held his gaze, her teeth clenched firmly together behind tightly pressed lips. He smiled broadly, looking down at the floor for a moment, using his shoe to straighten out an errant tassel on the Turkish area rug. 

      “Though you are completely correct: sewing and organization are skills and not technically talents, what do you do in your spare time then? Embroider? Is it just to hone your skill? Or do you enjoy it?” He began to pace around her again, walking from one end of the room to the other, “What other interests do you have, if any at all? If you want to speak up, now is the time, cara.” He turned around and faced her as he spoke, his right hand held out towards her in question, before falling back to his side and slipping into his pocket. As he waited for a response, he turned to the clock on the mantelpiece and opened the glass. He readjusted the arms, checking his watch before he did so, making sure it was right on the dot. She sat on the floor, her hands still tightly holding onto one another in her lap, her lips pressing flat against themselves. She sighed, looking out the large window to her left. The wind was picking up, pushing the boughs of the trees more roughly than it had been earlier. 

      “I apologize, your Unholiness,” she snapped her gaze away from the window as she stood abruptly, running the palms of her hands down on her habit before pushing them into her pockets, “I have no interests and I have no talents. I am simply doing what is required of me, as per my contract.” She looked at the floor again. Papa watched her closely, squinting slightly. 

      “You don’t have anything in the world that interests you? Nothing at all?” He walked slowly towards her, his shoes quietly making contact with the hard wood floors. Her green eyes roved around the room for a second, bouncing from the piano to the fireplace and then back to him. Still not sure how to answer or what to say, for surely, nothing had prepared her for this. 

      “I read a lot.” She whispered, biting her bottom lip after the words came tumbling out of her mouth. He nodded as he walked around her again, pacing the room, making his way back to the fireplace. 

      “As do I, of course, it’s par for the course what with the position I’m in.” He checked his watch as he walked past the clock on the mantelpiece, seeing that it matched, he kept walking at a leisurely pace: around and around. “What do you read, cara?” He asked plainly, but he clearly wanted an honest answer. She drew in a sharp breath and dug her nails into her skin through the fabric of her pockets; not wanting to give away her discomfort. 

      “I like non-fiction: history, to be specific. I like reading about places I’ll never be able to see.” She couldn’t stop the smile that forced its way onto her face. He hummed and stopped his pacing around the room, coming to a halt right in front of her. He looked down at her, his hands still in his pockets. Ellinor stared upwards, her eyes wide and her mouth tightly clamped shut.

      “What do you mean, ‘places you’ll never be able to see’? As in, they are lost to time? Or you, yourself, will never go there?” He asked, his voice very soft now that he was so close to her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, but did not break eye contact with him. 

      “Well, both, your Unholiness. As a Bond Servant, I cannot leave the property as I am-” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

      “Yes, yes, I know, as you _are_ property. I know the rules, cara. I know what a Bond Servant is.” She said nothing as he finished speaking and instead nodded silently and looked down at the floor. She looked up only as he walked away from her, over to a bookshelf behind the piano. He hummed to himself as he searched the shelves. He looked high and low, bending this way and that, muttering to himself as he pulled out one volume and then put it away, only to pull out another and repeat the process. She stood motionless by the window, scattered around her were endless piles of papers. Idly, she thought about all the work she was going to need to do to put them all away. But her thoughts were interrupted. 

      “Come here, cara,” Papa said, his voice was clear and commanding and she felt herself automatically responding, walking over to him with urgency. He was pulling a book down off of a high shelf, rifling through the pages with his gloved hands. The cover was a soft caramel and the spine itself was red and ornately, and carefully, decorated with golden scrolls at the top and the bottom. He held it open, the spine cracked softly as he did so. He was surprisingly gentle with it, turning the pages with the utmost care. 

      “This is by Nathaniel Hooke, it was published in the 1770’s: this is the 5th edition.” Ellinor stood next to him, watching the pages go by as he turned them; it was obviously old and obviously well loved. As each page went flying by she could smell them, it smelled old and warm. Papa closed the book and turned it over in his hands, “The cover is exquisite,” he dragged one gloved finger down the spine, “it’s made from goatskin, which is an extinct practice this day in age. It’s titled ‘The Roman History from the Building of Rome to the Ruin of the Commonwealth’ and it has been one of my personal favorites for as long as I can remember.” He took one last look at it for a moment and then turned to her, holding it out, “This is the first one in a series of four. If you enjoy ancient history, you may enjoy this.” 

      “You want me to borrow this?” Her voice was a soft whisper. Her eyes bounced from the book to his face and back to the book again. He nodded to her, gesturing with the book once more. 

      “Yes, borrow it. Read it. Tell me what you think. If you enjoy it, you are free to borrow the other three in the series, or anything else in here, if you so desire.” His face was plain and to the point, he did not smile. He simply held his hand out with the book in his palm, “Well? I’m not going to hold it all night, cara.” A small mischievous smile spread across his features. She bit her bottom lip and took the book from him with both her hands. She held it out in front of her. 

      “Thank you, your Unholiness. You,” she sighed looking at it, as it was truly a beautiful thing, “you didn’t have to do this. You _don’t_ have to do this.” She corrected herself, pulling the book to her chest, holding it against her form with both hands. He nodded, his hands slipping back into his pockets once more. 

      “I know, cara. But you seemed to be keen on seeing places you can never visit, and books are a wonderful way to do that, trust me, I know.” He let out a soft huff of a laugh as he began to walk away from her and back over to his desk. She clutched the book to her chest, biting her bottom lip, she watched him walk away. 

      “Thank you, your Unholiness. You really don’t have to do this. I’m sure I could have found something in the library.” She gave a flashed a small pleasant smile at him, as he sat down in the chair at his desk. He leaned back in it, the springs squealing as he did so. He rocked back and forth like that for a moment, his gaze stuck on the ceiling above him. 

      “No, cara, I don’t think you would have.” He leaned forward once more, interlocking his fingers together as he leaned on the desk, “You see, that copy you’re holding is one of only a handful left in the world, and I know for a fact that the library downstairs does not have it. It is a very special thing you have there. Take very good care of it.” He raised his eyebrows at her and she nodded briskly. 

      “I will, your Unholiness. I promise. Thank you for entrusting me with such a very special thing. From your own collection no less.” She kept looking at it with wide eyes and wonder. She then remembered all the paperwork all over the floor of the office and began to walk back to the tall piles of paper and files, knowing she’d have to spend hours now rearranging it, when in truth, all she wanted to do was read this tome she’d be given. Before she had taken more than three steps, he stopped her with a wave of his hand. 

     “Don’t worry about that, cara. It’ll be here for you tomorrow morning. You are dismissed.” He did not look up at her as he read the papers on his desk. She let a smile grace her features and she bowed quickly to him, “Thank you, your Unholiness.” She could hardly keep the joy out of her voice as she almost sprinted for the door and out into the hall. She looked at the book again, biting her bottom lip. No one had ever given her anything before. Not even to borrow and certainly, nothing like this. Ellinor felt her cheeks flush just looking at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see or read about the book which Papa speaks of in this chapter, you can find it here: https://www.biblio.com/book/roman-history-building-rome-ruin-commonwealth/d/637503358


	16. A Test, of Sorts

_ Sweden _

_ March 13th, 1975 _

_ 10:11 PM _

 

       The library was nearly silent at night. There was no one here to order her around and certainly no one to question her. Ellinor sat at the far back of the immense library, in a red leather wing back chair, one that had seen far better days. It had cracks in the leather around the rivets in the arm rest from years and years of wear and tear: people sitting down and getting up again, wiping their sweaty palms on the leather. This takes its toll on a piece of furniture and now it was worn and aged and it showed. Ellinor herself, found her fingers picking at the edges, pulling gently at the peeling leather idly as she had pulled herself into a ball, legs crossed and propped up against the arm rest. In her lap was the book that his Unholiness had lent to her to read. 

       Earlier in the day she had immediately left his quarters, ran down to the kitchen and grabbed a stray apple and some cheese, and quickly made her way to the library. She secluded herself in the farthest corner she could find, hiding her snack beside her, in between her side and the chair she sat in. It wasn’t long before the lights began to dim and the amount of people wandering around lessened. The din of chatter died down and soon the candles, lining the library walls in their sconces, lit of their own accord. The sounds of people exiting the library soon faded and she knew she was alone, finally. She was free to waste her evening as she saw fit, and this was how she chose to do it: crunched up in an old chair, almost folded up on herself, reading an ancient book that had been so graciously lent to her, by a man she had no right accepting anything from. 

       She was a fast reader and she cut through the beginning of it quickly. It was written in the old style and was a bit harder to follow then most other things she’d found in the library over her years being at the Church, but it was engrossing. Especially having been written almost two hundred years prior, the author had views on certain historical happenings that had, surely, been disproven by now and that fascinated her. She was so engrossed in it that she did not notice that she was actually not alone at all and that far above her, walking along silently on the iron ramparts high above the shelves and books, was a masked figure. His tail whipped this way and that as his silent footfalls guided him around the library looking for stragglers. 

       He had his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his right hand patting into the palm of his left gently as he walked. He was overseeing his kingdom, as he did every evening, after everyone had gone: looking for stray piles of books, papers, messes, anything to be cleared away for the next day. But he did happen upon a curious sight: a woman seated in a leather chair, reading a book. He squinted at her from behind his mask, his tail beginning to thrash back and forth, whipping about out of irritation. He did not like those who overstayed their welcome after hours and so he descended the spiral iron staircase at the end of the iron rampart and began to stalk off towards the offending party. His footsteps were quick and harsh on the marble floors, the metal on the bottoms of his shoes  _ click-clacking _ against the stone, announcing his arrival. He rounded the edge of one of the bookshelves and appeared in front of the woman. She looked up at him, but said nothing. 

       “Good evening,” he said, his shadow cast across the woman in the chair, blocking out the light from the nearby fireplace, “I am here to, regretfully, inform you that it is after hours and so I-” He stopped speaking immediately, mid sentence; his vision fixed on the book she had in her hands. He tilted his head to the left. She watched him closely, her green eyes were wide and her lips were a thin, straight line across her pale face. The sound in the room seemed to disappear as he stared at the tome she grasped so carefully. 

       “Forgive me for inquiring, but,” he reached out and tilted the book upwards, so he could read the spine, “wherever did you find this?” His voice was an alarmed whisper as he watched her closely from behind his silver mask. She began to close the book as she licked her bottom lip before she spoke. 

       “His Unholiness allowed me to borrow it from his personal collection.” She paused for a moment, unsure if she should reveal that information or not, before licking her bottom lip as she continued, “I apologize for being here too late though, I’ll go.” She began to readjust herself, getting up to leave but the Ghoul stepped forward and placed his index finger in the still open book, stopping her from closing it entirely. 

       “No, no, please, do not read this in your quarters.” His voice was sharp and deadly serious, “I do not wish for anything to happen to such a rare and incredible volume. This is a very special book: it is worth a tremendous amount of currency and has even greater historical meaning and integrity. Take good care of this item, Bond Servant Ellinor.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but his eyes were very bright behind his mask, and even in the poorly lit library, she could see the intensity of his stare. Ellinor nodded. 

       “I promise,” she managed to eek out, her voice small but resolute, “I’ll only read it when I’m alone. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. His Unholiness let me borrow it and I wouldn’t want to lose, or damage, his property.” The gentlest smile graced her features as she laid her hand on the goatskin cover of the book. The Ghoul gave a curt, tight nod of his head, his hands clutched one another tightly behind his back once more. He stood up straight again, his eyes now dark pools, obscured by his mask. She could feel him looking down at her, watching her closely, suspiciously. 

      “You are free to stay here as long as you’d like.” He gestured to the library around them as he bowed quickly, and before she could respond, he stalked off. His shoes  _ click-clacking _ down onto the floor until he was out of earshot and sight. She watched him go, disappearing into the darkness of the rest of the library. He seemed to simply slip away into the night. She swallowed audibly once he was gone, then curled herself back up into the chair she was seated in, and continued where she had left off. Delicately, she smoothed the pages out with her hand as she went, trying to keep them as neat and orderly as possible. 

       After disappearing from her view, the Ghoul walked quickly along the rows of shelves, passing row after row. Until he reached a tight opening between two looming shelves, the same opening he always delved into, and headed towards the same small and aged wooden door nestled in between the shelves that seemed to be just a tad too close for comfort. He slipped through the doorway with the quietest of movements and was soon standing in the middle of a completely darkened room; the only light was that of the soft glowing, yet dying embers, in the far off fireplace at the opposite end of the long hall. There were boxes piled here and there, books, papers, everything was everywhere and it was all askew and a mess, but it was an organized chaos. He stood silently for a moment in the middle of the darkened room, tapping his right foot on the marble floor with such a purpose that the sound echoed fiercely throughout the stone hall, his tail swishing this way and that as he was deep in thought. He sighed, shaking his head as he thought out loud. 

      “What in the world is he doing lending out books to his assistant, let alone a Bond Servant? He’s certainly never done anything like that before.” Alpha whispered quietly to the darkness around him. Though, it certainly did not yield any answers. 


	17. Observations

_Sweden_

_March 17th, 1975_

_7:58 AM_

 

       Ellinor had taken the entire weekend to read the book that his Unholiness had so graciously allowed her to borrow. She had taken great care not to bend any pages, she’d used a plain and simple bookmark so it didn’t make any marks or leave any stains and she certainly hadn’t had anything to drink near it, in case of spillage. She’d read it only in the library and had cut through it quickly and with great efficiency, in short: she’d soaked it up like a sponge. The material was interesting and engaging and it was full of places and people she knew she’d never see personally. She found herself flying through the tome, page after page after page; she had been utterly engrossed and when the time came to return the book to its rightful owner, she had never felt so privileged in her life.  

       His Unholiness was drinking his coffee as Ellinor was cleaning the outside cover of the book she’d been lent with a dry rag and placing it back on the shelf where it had come down from. He looked up at her over his reading glasses, placing his coffee cup down on its saucer with the gentlest of _clinks_. He drew a deep breath, eyeing her closely, watching the careful way she put the book back on the shelf. He pulled his glasses off and laid them on his desk gently. 

       “You read the whole thing, did you?” He asked, his voice carried through the large office. Ellinor cradled a new book in her hands as she turned to meet his mismatched stare. 

       “Yes, your Unholiness. I took all weekend to read it, I figured I wouldn’t get another chance.” She gave a stiff smile and turned back to the shelf, putting the book back. Papa drummed his fingers on the desk idly, quietly; he squinted at her. 

       “You know that’s only Volume one. There are also Volumes two, three, and four.” He gestured with his glasses as he picked them back up again and perched them on the end of his nose, looking down at his paperwork once more. Ellinor turned away from him and stared at the shelf, noticing that there was indeed three other volumes. She pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes scanning the shelf. Papa watched her from over top of his reading glasses: waiting. She started to reach up but retracted her hand at the last second. 

       “What’s wrong?” Ellinor turned to him as he spoke, her eyes wide and her head tilted from left to right but he plowed onward, “They’re books, they don’t bite. Though I’m sure, somewhere we can find some that do, if you’d prefer that, hmm?” He smirked, his right eyebrow arching sharply as he chuckled under his breath. Ellinor turned away from him, trying her best not to smile at his remark as she continued dusting along the spines of the books. He pulled his glasses off, letting them fall to the desk with a soft clink. He pushed his chair back as he stood and walked over to her; leaving his blazer hanging on the back of his chair, the sleeves of his white button up shirt rolled to his elbows. 

       “Tell me,” he asked as he walked slowly over to her, his fingers dragging along the keys of the piano as he approached, “what did you think?” Ellinor turned to face him, her hands clasped in front of her tightly. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was a tight lipped, straight line.

       “What I thought, your Unholiness?” She asked, her voice almost a whisper. He nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest: waiting. She wrung the rag in her hands tightly, blinking several times. He did not move. He simply watched and waited. 

       “I thought that the historical detail was extraordinary.” She drew in a sharp breath before continuing, “The author obviously went to great lengths to find the original source materials and cite them properly, and he did it well: it was engaging and interesting.” She looked up at the ceiling as she spoke, avoiding his gaze, “I appreciated the author’s mentioning of the Greek customs that the Romans had thought to use as well.” She lowered her eyes from the high vaulted, beautiful cathedral ceilings and locked her gaze with his. He leaned against the edge of the piano, his arms still crossed over his chest, nodding in thought. 

       “Indulge me, cara: what did you think of the story where the aged Generals went to face the Gauls, surely to be cut down?” He asked, his voice decisive and hard. He stood perfectly still, the only thing moving were the fingers of his right hand, tapping against his left arm. Ellinor furrowed her brow for a moment. 

       “I thought it was very sad,” she paused for a moment, licking her bottom lip, “the wives had to choose between dying with their husbands at the hands of the Gauls or going and hiding, as many saw it, in the fortress. Having to make that kind of decision in the heat of the moment, the way the author mentioned how so many of them ran between their husbands and their sons, unsure of who to follow: that's a terrible thing to imagine.” He pulled away from leaning on the piano and nodded as he walked around the edge of the room, along the book cases. His footsteps deliberate and heavy, but slow. 

       “Yes, that part was always riveting, albeit, a heartbreaking scene.” He ran a hand along the edge of the bookshelves which covered the wall. He walked closer in silence and was soon standing directly in front of her. He pulled his hand away from the shelf and inspected his fingers, “No dust I see. You are very thorough it would seem: in sewing, reading comprehension and cleaning.” A slow smile spread across his face. Ellinor bowed her head slightly, her hands tightly holding onto the dry rag she was holding. 

       “Thank you, your Unholiness.” She whispered, her head still bowed, her eyes on his shoes. He cleared his throat as he walked around her, inspecting the books, his eyes scanning up and down the shelves. He hummed as he went. Ellinor turned around and watched him, she looked at the shelf where he was crouched down, running his fingers along the spines of several old tomes. Finally, he stood up, a grey colored book in his hands; the spine was red and the authors name and the title etched into the leather with gold foil. He began to walk over to her, opening the cover very gently as he came to stand beside her. Ellinor could feel the warmth radiating off of him: a part of her instinctively tried to pull away, but another part, a stronger more urgent and pressing part, begged her to stay right where she was. 

       “This is one of the first editions of Thomas Hobbes ‘Leviathan’. It was originally printed in 1651 and I think you’d enjoy it. Not only for its historical importance and commentary, but also for Hobbes discussion of human nature within the confines of politics. Politics as a concept in and of itself.” As he spoke he closed the book and ran his hands along its spine, finally holding it out to her. He watched her closely, his mismatched eyes focused entirely on her. At such a close proximity she noticed how white his one eye was compared to the other brown one. It wasn’t unnerving though, not as it had once been. She nodded firmly and took the book from him. 

       “Thank you, your Unholiness, though you don’t have to lend me your books. I’m sure I can find adequate reading materials from the library.” She smiled as she spoke, tucking the book under her left arm, not wanting to dirty it with the rag in her right hand. He put his hands in his pockets and began to wander back towards his desk, looking at the floor as he walked. His shoes crunching down onto the expensive Turkish rug. 

       “You will never find anything like what I have here, down in the library, cara.” He said as he sat back down in his leather chair, scooting closer to his desk once more and picking up his pen. A moment of heavy silence passed between them and neither of them spoke nor moved. Finally, he drew in a sharp breath and leaned back in his chair, twirling the pen in his right hand as he spoke, “I am attending a meeting this Thursday, the 20th, at 9:30 AM, to be exact.” 

       “I see, do you wish me to bring your coffee earlier then? Or perhaps later, when you return?” She asked quickly. He hummed, leaning back in his chair.

       “No, not exactly. I wish you to bring the coffee at the same time as you usually do,” he looked directly at her as he spoke, his eyebrows both raised, “but I also wish for you to attend the meeting with me. I will need someone to take notes and I hate taking notes.” He chuckled as he leaned forward once more, leaning his elbows on his desk, holding the pen between both his hands. Ellinor shifted uncomfortably where she stood. 

       “Yes, of course your Unholiness. I can take notes. Though, I cannot attest to how good they will be or how well organized.” She flashed a small, nervous smile; her grip on the rag tightening. He nodded his head. 

       “Judging from how well you organized these,” he gestured to the filing cabinets off to his left that lined the far wall, “I think you’ll do just fine.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk as he leaned backwards again in his chair, his hands on the arm rests. He was pushing off of the floor with the tip of his shoe. Ellinor gave a tight nod of her head, the book he’d lent her still tucked under her arm. 

       “Your Unholiness, may I have permission to ask a question?” Her voice was soft, but it echoed throughout the large office well enough. 

       “Of course, cara, ask away.” He did not move as he spoke, he simply watched her with his mismatched eyes; still rocking back and forth in his chair, his foot never leaving the wooden floors.

       “What should I expect from this meeting? Is there anything you wish me to pay closer attention to or anything you wish for me to ignore outright?” The room was silent for several seconds as he thought; he smiled, huffing out a bit of a stifled laugh. 

       “I see that the list of talents and skills you have grows. Now I must add _critical thinking_ to the list, cara.” He stopped rocking in his chair and allowed it to come to a stationary position as he leaned forward on the desk, “The meeting is simply a formality. I like to sit and listen.” He waved his hand vaguely in the air as he spoke, as though he were dismissing it, “If you can take notes, I can look back on them later; it saves me from having to split my focus during the meeting. I’ll debrief you on some small things to look out for before we leave on Thursday morning. Don’t worry, I won’t let you go in blind.” He smiled once more as he reached for his reading glasses, which he had discarded earlier onto the desk, and put them back on. He looked back down at his paperwork in front of him, flicking the pen between his fingers as he read; his lips moving with the words silently. 

       Ellinor turned back to her work, dusting the shelves and the books. Running the rag along the edges of the shelves and along the spines of the books and the tops, pulling any dust and cobwebs off of them. The whole while she thought ahead to that coming Thursday, wondering what would happen, who would be there, what would be expected of her and if her note taking ability would meet up to what his Unholiness had probably come to expect from previous assistants. As she continued to clean and dust, every so often she would cast a glance at his Unholiness: watching him as he focused on his work. But she held tightly onto the Hobbes book under her arm. So tightly that it was beginning to hurt, but she didn’t mind, after all, it was a good hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read more about this specific volume by Thomas Hobbes, here: https://www.biblio.com/book/leviathan-matter-forme-power-common-wealth/d/799149994


	18. The Meeting and the Notes

_Sweden_

_March 20th, 1975_

_8:46 AM_

 

      “Did you bring your notepad?” He asked over his shoulder as he walked. People bowed and scraped, moving out of his way almost instantly as he walked through the wide stone hallways. 

      “Yes, your Unholiness.” She answered instantly, following closely behind him. Her shoes were lightly scuffing the beautiful white marble floors as they walked. His simply clacked sharply down, causing an echo that announced his arrival. 

      “Very good,” he said clearly and loudly. The people around them scattered as he walked through them, Ellinor silently following behind him, walking in his wake. She kept her head down, staring at the backs of his shoes, watching the way the bottoms of his pants hem caught on the heels of his shoe. She made a mental note to fix the stitches there later. Soon the crowds of people began to thin out as they went up one flight of stairs and then another, only to go down a deserted, narrow hallway and then up another flight of stairs to an even quieter, less populated area of the Church.

      “We’re almost there now, remember what I told you?” He asked, quickly spinning around on one heel, his hands in his pockets, his mismatched eyes appearing just above his sunglasses. He stared at her. She nodded silently, suppressing a smile as he walked backwards and spoke with her. 

      “Yes, your Unholiness. I remember.” She nodded once, her hands went back to tightly gripping the notepad she had. He squinted at her, only to push his sunglasses up and turn around on one heel into two large double wooden doors at the end of the hallway. He said nothing to her, but looked over his shoulder at her one last time as he placed his palm on the door handle, pushing it down: the door opened quickly from the other side. A tall broad shouldered Ghoul bowed and held it open, gesturing with his left arm for them to enter. As Ellinor passed by him, she noticed the Ghoul turn his head, staring directly at her. She said nothing, attempting a smile that would not come. The room was not as large as she had imagined it would be. There was a long, hardwood table was in the middle, it was a beautiful antique thing,  its feet were hard carved intricate claws and the medallion at the center was elegantly and painstakingly crafted. 

      There were people milling around the room and chatting in small groups. Some of them Ellinor recognized: the Ghoul who had defended her in the library, the other Ghoul who was in charge of the library, Sister Imperator, Papa Nihil. But there were still others she did not know: a handful of Cardinals were at the end of the long table, opposite Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator. The Cardinals were whispering amongst themselves. Ellinor glanced up at Sister Imperator, observing the way she glared at the Cardinals, as though she were trying to read lips. 

      “Finally! You’re late, you know.” Papa Nihil said. His words broke Ellinor’s gaze on Imperator with an upbeat, cheery tone as he gestured to his Unholiness, “I see you’ve brought your assistant.” Papa Nihil’s voice immediately lost its warmth in the span of several seconds. 

      “I needed someone to take notes.” His Unholiness said unhurriedly, almost leisurely; though, his voice brokered no argument or discussion on the topic. He pulled a chair out from the table as Ellinor selected her pen from her pocket, writing the date at the top of the notepad she held: she did not move otherwise and continued to stand back, away from the table. He turned around from his standing position and looked directly at her, “Sit.” He said mildly, as he gestured to the chair he’d just pulled out. Ellinor looked up at him, her eyes wide, she could feel the blood rushing from her face. She felt her mouth slacken as she unconsciously ran her tongue over her bottom lip. He gestured to the chair with a more ardent nod. Ellinor nodded back stiffly, her eyes staring endlessly at her notepad. As she sat, his Unholiness took the notepad from her and placed it on the table gently and silently. He then turned away, back to Papa Nihil, who was being handed paperwork by Imperator. They were whispering together quietly and hurriedly, Nihil nodding silently at whatever it was that she was saying. His Unholiness began to lean back in his chair, his fingers interlaced and resting on his lap: waiting. 

      The people seated around the table were tense. The two Ghouls stood away from everyone else, on either side of the fireplace, almost like pillars. They were ominous, dark figures, their tails whipping this way and that, curling between their legs; Ellinor couldn’t see their eyes in their masks, the holes in the metal leading only to dark pits. One leaned against the mantelpiece, his arms folded over his chest, he seemed disinterested, perhaps even distracted. The other stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his feet spread shoulder width apart; his head was held very high, as though he were observing everything with disinterest and disdain. Ellinor looked at them, trying to place them, but she quickly discovered that she absolutely knew who they were: the Overseer of the Library, though she did not know his name, and the other Ghoul she knew only as Omega. Her thoughts were interrupted when Papa Nihil cleared his throat. Everyone’s conversation seemed to die immediately: the room descended into a taut and perilous silence. The only sound was the soft breathing Ellinor could hear from his Unholiness next to her, he sat with his sunglasses perched on his nose; concealing his eyes from all those at the table. The gentle, comforting crackling of the fireplace was the constant background music for the entirety of the meeting. 

      Ellinor stared ahead of her at the notepad on the table. The date sat at the top of the paper, in the right hand corner. Her handwriting was small and neat and orderly. She had always taken great pride in that. She kept her head down and her eyes on the notepad, her pen ready. She was only vaguely listening to a Cardinal from the far end of the table as he discussed Rituals, someone else piped up only to offer an opposing opinion. She wasn’t sure if this was important to not, but she took notes anyway, writing down everything that everyone said in short, sufficient detail. As she wrote, she glanced over to his Unholiness, he sat back in his chair, his hand still partially covering his mouth, his elbow propping his form up on the table. He didn’t turn his head but he watched her with a sidelong look, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. Ellinor attempted to suppress a smile, after all, she had to agree with him. She continued to try and take notes, but some of what everyone was saying was simply just useless gossip. The two Ghouls by the fireplace still hadn’t moved; they stood like statues, the only thing swishing back and forth were their tails. 

      “Are you all _finished_?” Sister Imperator’s voice cut through the room like a knife. The Cardinals, who had previously been quietly bickering amongst themselves, shut their mouths with definitive _clinks_ of their teeth. Sister Imperator smiled, a forced, sharp looking thing painting its way across her face. Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “Now, as many of you know, we do have some important business to cover today.” She leaned forward against the table, her fingers interlaced tightly. Papa Nihil said nothing, but watched Sister Imperator intently; his eyes never moving away from her as she spoke. 

      “His Summun Unholiness Papa Nihil, and myself, shall be taking an extended leave of absence.” There was some squinting of eyes and shuffling around of the Cardinals, an Abbess and Abbot at the far end of the table exchanged a look between each other. Sister Imperator continued to smile that forced smile, holding up a hand as she spoke, “Do not be alarmed!” She laughed with a cold and unwelcoming mirth, “We will return; however, there is very important business that requires his Summon Unholiness, and myself, to depart for a longer than usual period of time. But we will be back, rest assured!” She let out a soft laugh. The Cardinals nodded briskly, though none of them smiled. The Abbess and Abbot simply sat silently in their seats, their hands folded in their laps. 

      Ellinor wrote all of this down, naturally. As she wrote she found herself looking up at the Ghouls standing across from her and as Sister Imperator continued to speak about when she and Papa Nihil might be returning, Ellinor noticed the Ghouls exchanging a glance. The one she knew to be Omega simply shook his head silently as the other looked upwards and away, his gaze getting lost in the rafters of the incredibly high ceiling. Ellinor wrote that down too. Her hand did not stop moving and she continued to scribble away. As she wrote, she looked over at his Unholiness, she couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not behind his sunglasses, but she noted that he hadn’t moved since he sat down. 

      “Since his Summun Unholiness and I will be gone,” Sister Imperator said sharply and decidedly, “This branch of the Church, being the head quarters, will be under the direct power and supervision of his Unholiness, Papa Emeritus the Second.” She gestured to Papa, who was very obviously asleep in his chair, or at the very least dozing. Ellinor did not look up but instead bumped his Unholiness’ knee with her own, jostling him awake. He regained himself quickly and sat up straight in his chair, leaning on the table and taking a moment of silence to interlace his fingers as Imperator had done. Papa and Imperator stared at each other from across the table: the pressure in the room was tactile. He simply nodded his acceptance of the role and Imperator continued to speak to the Cardinals, going so far as to rise from her chair and walked around the table and the room, gesturing as she spoke. Ellinor continued to write it all down. 

      Papa turned and looked at his father but, once again, his father wasn’t paying attention, he was too transfixed on Sister Imperator. He was watching as she walked around the table with grace and poise: the way her white blouse moved so fluidly with her, her graying blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, and her face the picture perfect portrait of someone speaking eloquently and assuredly about a project they cared very deeply about. Papa cleared his throat as he pulled himself up in his chair, leaning to the right and elbowing Ellinor in the arm, gesturing for her pen. She willingly gave it to him and pushed the notepad over, but he shook his head, pulling it down into his lap instead. 

 _I was almost asleep,_ he wrote, passing the notepad back to Ellinor. 

 _I apologize your Unholiness,_ she wrote back, passing the notepad back to him. She could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks as she wrote that, realizing now that perhaps she should have let him sleep. But he simply shook his head in silence, watching Sister Imperator at the other end of the table speaking with the Cardinals and answering their mundane questions. He watched her from over the rim of his sunglasses for a moment before looking back down at the notepad. 

 _Don’t apologize. It’s not the first time I’ve fallen asleep during one of these infernal meetings,_ he pushed the notepad and pen back into her lap. Ellinor suddenly felt a certain boldness creeping into her, a boldness she’d never felt before. She bit her bottom lip and put her pen to the notepad, scribbling away, hoping beyond hope that his Unholiness would not rebuke her query. 

 _Is this how it always goes? It is, with all due respect your Unholiness, very boring,_ Ellinor kept the smile from her face as she pushed the notepad back into Papa’s lap. He smiled outright, staring down at the notepad in his lap as he took the pen from her hand. 

 _Don’t make me laugh. It’s always like this though, yes. Imperator prattles on uselessly about useless information. This could have all been done via letter, no reason for us all to physically be here_ , he handed the notepad back, passing it under the table. He felt like he was back in school. He’d passed notes with his brother when they were in classes together, usually making fun of one another or the tutor. This felt like the same thing somehow, as though he’d been transported in time almost twenty years and was doing something he shouldn’t do. Ellinor looked up for a moment, watching as Imperator was speaking with the Abbess and Abbot, the way she smiled and the way she pulled her hands behind her back, her wide eyes, it was unnerving. Ellinor looked down at the notepad, stroking it idly with her thumb as she thought. She debated with herself, wrestling in her mind, as to whether or not she should say what she’d been noticing. She looked up once more at Imperator and then back to the notepad, her pen starting and then stopping as it touched the paper. Only to start up again and, this time, not stop.

 _Imperator is lying by omission. There’s something she isn’t telling you all,_ Ellinor handed the notepad back to Papa. He stared down at the words on the paper for several seconds, his brow furrowed, taking the pen from her slowly. Ellinor grimaced as she waited for a response, though in that moment she had to admit, no response would indeed be worse. Her hands were sweating and she wiped them on her habit. She found herself wondering if this was going too far, had she crossed a line? Papa handed the notepad back to her, laying it in her lap with the pen on top. She grabbed it silently and quickly, so the pen wouldn’t roll off. 

 _How do you know?_ The words were simple and to the point and when Ellinor looked up at the man sitting next to her, he had removed his sunglasses and was tucking them into his pocket. His mismatched stare cut right through her; the way he leaned forward and didn’t blink, it was like being watched by a predator in the jungle on a moonless night. She clasped the pen in her, now sweaty, right hand and began to scribble as fast as she could. 

 _Her body language, the way she keeps moving around when people talk to her, like shes trying to think something up as she goes; as though she’s covering something up or doesn’t want to come right out and say something. How she keeps distracting them with little jokes and mindless gestures,_ Ellinor scooted the notepad back to Papa. He looked down at it, reading thoroughly, only to look over his shoulder at Papa Nihil for a moment. Noticing that Nihil was still watching Imperator closely, he allowed a small smile to creep across his features. He picked up the pen, watching Imperator for a brief moment before he began to write quickly onto the notepad. 

 _We’ll speak on this later, but know that you have indeed outdone your predecessors in the note taking category,_ he pushed the notepad towards her and leaned back in his chair. He fished his sunglasses out of his pocket again and readjusted in his seat as he placed them back over his eyes. Ellinor knew he was going to go back to sleep, or at least attempt to. She found herself disinterested in the rest of the meeting, only taking scant notes down here and there. She kept glancing upwards on the notepad, staring at his Unholiness’ handwriting: it was beautiful. As though he’d worked at it, or taken calligraphy classes, anything, something, it was too good to simply be regular, plain handwriting. 

      The rest of the meeting went by in a blur and soon they were all dismissed. Ellinor finding herself walking once more in his Unholiness’ wake, back to his office. When they arrived he immediately went over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out his whiskey, pouring himself a glass and downing it almost immediately; only to pour himself another straight away. Ellinor stood quietly by, watching him down his whiskey. 

     “Well, another useless meeting down. I’m sure, probably, several hundred more to go.” He said as he meandered his way over to his large chair by the fireplace. He promptly flopped down into it, sighing as she placed his glass on the table next to him. Ellinor nodded her head in silence as he continued, “On the upside, I am wholly in charge now. Which is,” he picked up his glass and swirled the liquid inside around, staring down at the amber colored liquid in the crystal glass, “nice, I suppose.” He took a deep sip of the liquid and placed the empty glass back down onto the table. 

     “Would you like another, your Unholiness?” Ellinor asked quietly, her hands still tightly grasping the notepad. He simply shook his head. 

     “No, I think that’ll be all, cara.” He stared into the fireplace, his hands crossed over his stomach, “You are dismissed.” He flashed her a small smile and she bowed her head quickly, turning on her heel and marching off to the door. Just as she reached it, she remembered and turned around.

     “Your Unholiness, where would you like me to leave these notes from the meeting?” She held up the notepad. He looked at her for a moment, his gaze was blank. Finally he shook his head, rolling his eyes. 

     “It doesn’t matter, I don’t need them really. You can file them if you wish tomorrow though.” She furrowed her brow, her mouth pulling into a tight, straight line as she nodded silently and then turned around and continued on to the door and then out into the hall. She followed her same path down, down, down, passed the main front doors and passed the library, passed the dormitory for the Sisters of Sin and then further down into the Bond Servant quarters. She walked along poorly lit hallways, avoiding small patches and puddles of water that dotted the simple and uneven stone floors. Upon reaching her quarters she opened the door and went inside: no one else was there. She sighed in relief and sat down on her bed, looking at the notepad in her hands. 

      She flipped through it, looking at his Unholiness’ handwriting, how careful and beautiful it was. It was not a script she would have thought he’d have had in him. But here it was: proof that he did. She found herself smiling gently at that thought, her eyes scanning the pages of notes and their dialogue during the meeting. As she scanned through them she couldn’t escape that nagging voice at the back of her mind. Her eyes scanned the pages again and again. Finally she closed the notepad and let it sit idly in her lap, her fingers drumming on it impatiently. She looked around the room she sat in, alone, and whispered into the dim lighting, “If he doesn’t need the notes, why did he ask me to take them in the first place?” She sat like that for some time in the ever growing darkness of the room, gripping the notepad and drumming her fingers on it furiously. 


	19. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting on this is a bit wonky? If it's too much let me know and I can fix it. AO3 is not very good with format changes. So if it's weird or if it looks weird, please let me know! 
> 
> Thank you!

_Sweden_

_March 24th, 1975_

_8:12 PM_

 

      Papa exited the shower, the steam rolling off of him and out into the already foggy bathroom. He wiped his hand across the mirror, clearing a path on the glass so he could see himself. He hummed while he went about his business; his voice echoing throughout the large tiled room. Finally, he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door; steam rolled out onto the wood floors of his quarters. Bare footed, he walked down the hallway and into his room. The sound of his still damp skin clinging to the wooden floors shattered the silence. His room had two dressers and one large armoire against the far wall, adjacent to the four poster, hand carved, wooden framed bed. As always, he continued to hum to himself as he walked over to the armoire and opened the heavy wooden doors. He let the doors go and they fell back, revealing a plethora of suits, pants, shirts, jackets, belts and ties, all hung up neatly and orderly. He furrowed his brow at the selection, staring at the pants closely before muttering to himself and slamming the armoire doors shut with a heavy _clunk_. 

      He walked quickly back down the hallway he’d come, past the bathroom; making a beeline to the door of his main office. Still walking around only wrapped in his towel, which was quickly becoming cold, he opened the door and entered the pitch black room. He didn’t fumble on the wall looking for a switch, he knew exactly where it was and within a moment the room was lit up from a nearby floor lamp. The larger dark wood armoire sat still and closed by the huge window which overlooked the courtyard far below. Opening it, he saw his better selection of suits, pants, jackets, shirts and ties; he began to riffle through them, muttering to himself as he went. Ultimately, he found what he was looking for: the same pair of pants he’d worn to the meeting the previous Thursday. He picked them up and allowed them to unfold in his hands, the fabric was cleaned and perfectly pressed. He held them up, scrutinizing them closely; something was off. As he flipped them over and over again in his hands, he finally felt something rustling in the pocket every time his hand would graze it. Reaching into it quickly, he pulled out a small, folded up piece of paper. He allowed the garment to fall from his hands and down onto the floor as he examined the paper. He unfolded it and read, 

_Your Unholiness,_

_The hem of these pants was torn. I took the liberty of fixing it for you, instead of sending it to the tailor. I apologize if this is unwarranted._

_-Ellinor_

He stared at the note for a moment, looking at the handwriting; he turned his head this way and that, staring at it. He read the note and reread it several times. Finally he looked up, holding the note in between his index finger and his thumb. He cast his vision down onto the pants, now crumpled up onto the floor. Idly, he bit the inside of his lip, looking around the darkened room; the only light was a weak source from the floor lamp he’d turned on earlier. The rest of the room was swathed in shadows. He walked over to his desk in the dim light and found a piece of paper. He opened the front drawer of the desk and dug around for a moment, looking for a pen. Only to find one that didn’t work, cursed at it, throwing it to the side, and then finding one that did work. 

_Thank you for mending the hem of the pants. You did not have to do that, you are free to send them to the tailor the next time this occurs, if it inconveniences you to fix them._

_-Papa_

He found himself staring at it for some time, drumming his fingers on the desk. He knew he’d see her the next morning, he could, logically, inform her himself. But he also knew she could have, logically, informed him herself as well. He suddenly realized what it was: a game, but it was a safe game, a game with distance. He found himself smiling a crooked smile as he dug in the front drawer for some tape. Finding some, he taped the note onto the top of the desk, where she would be sure to see it in the morning when she delivered his coffee. With that he put the pen back in the drawer and shut it with a soft _clink_. He turned the lamp off as he exited the office and headed back to his private quarters. He fell into a pattern with the notes, and as such, so did Ellinor. 

And so it became a game of tag. 

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_I finished organizing the first few filing cabinets. Everything is in alphabetical order. Some things have been removed due to being out of date or being of more use in the archive. If you’d like a comprehensive list of what has been removed, I can provide that._

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_That’s fine, I trust your discretion in what is, and what is not, needed or applicable._

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_The cabinets are all organized and complete. I’ve moved onto the bulk of boxes in the back storage area. Many of these documents were from your predecessor and will either end up in the furnace or in the archive. If there’s anything you’d explicitly like me to save, please let me know._

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_I went through them all last night and left notes on which ones needed to be filed with the rest of the paperwork in the filing cabinets and which ones could be disposed of in the furnace. There might be some applicable for the archive. Though, I’m unsure which ones the archive would want and which ones would not be suitable._

_-Papa_

  

_Your Unholiness,_

_I have organized certain items to be looked at by the archive and by the Overseer himself. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell us what is, and what is not, important._

_-Ellinor_

  

_Ellinor,_

_Excellent, perhaps you can defer certain tasks to him. As I’m sure you are working well beyond what your conscripted tasks require of you. Surely this is going beyond your duties. Allow him to take over as you see fit, beyond a certain point it isn’t, and rather, shouldn’t be your concern._

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_This is not beyond my duties. This is a part of my duties. If the Overseer wishes me to help him, I will. This is part of why I’m here: to organize your files and make sure everything is correct and in a useful and helpful place. You do not need to be concerned for my well being or my work load, your Unholiness._

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_Ah, but there is where you’re wrong! I do need to be concerned. If you burn yourself out then I have to find another assistant. Replacing you would be quite the task, after all. I know you’ve only been my assistant since the beginning of March, but you have been a great help. As I mentioned several weeks ago during the meeting, you have surpassed your predecessors. You are much more competent than they ever were and more reliable and able._

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_Thank you for such high praise, your Unholiness, though if I may say, if I have surpassed your previous assistants, then they must not have been doing very much. This is all very streamlined and simple work. I am, honestly, very shocked that it has not been done before now._

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_No, no, you’re absolutely correct. They weren’t doing much of anything at all. You are truly earning your keep. Furthermore, your handwriting is excellent. I can read every word perfectly. Once again you have surpassed your predecessors._

_-Papa_

  

_Your Unholiness,_

_I am glad to hear that you are pleased with my work and with my level of skill. My handwriting is simply handwriting, nothing more. I am glad that you are able to read it and it is clear of any errors or misspellings._

_-Ellinor_

  

_Ellinor,_

_Your handwriting is very well done and obviously a practiced skill set. You are proficient in this and it shows, well done on your part. That said, I have a request. There is a luncheon event I must attend next week and I would appreciate it if you were able to accompany me. I would like to have an extra set of, well trained eyes, on those around me. So as not to miss anything of importance._

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_Of course, your Unholiness. Though I’m sure there are other Sisters of Sin who would be more suited to the task. Would you like me to take notes while accompanying you there?_

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_Certainly not! You don’t need to take notes, just be present and aware. Be my extra set of eyes, if you’re willing. I’ll pick something out for you to wear, as your usual habit will not work in this scenario. I’ll hang it up in the armoire in my office. The event will be on May 2nd, but meet me in my office at 11:00 AM. We’ll leave from here, it’ll be easier that way. The outfit will be in the armoire the day before._

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_As discussed, I’ve placed all my notes on your desk from the May 2nd luncheon last week. I’ve outlined everything I noticed. I’ve also placed the outfit, cleaned and pressed, back in your armoire in your office. Thank you for allowing me to wear it, it was a very generous and gracious offer on your part._

_-Ellinor_

  

_Ellinor,_

_I’ve gone over your notes and I appreciate you being so through, I must say I did not notice what Cardinal Berg was saying. I’m glad you caught that. For the purposes of clarification, I did not “allow” you to wear the outfit, I asked you to. It is a much better color then your drab habit for a bright luncheon comprised of upper clergy members._

_-Papa_

  

_Your Unholiness,_

_That does not mean that I cannot thank you for asking that I wear something else. You could have simply asked me to walk along behind you in my usual habit and you did not. So for that, I must thank you._

_-Ellinor_

 

_Ellinor,_

_Have you only ever worn your habit? Never anything else, ever? Always the same drab, black and white, poor quality piece of cloth your entire life? You’ve never owned anything else?_

_-Papa_

 

_Your Unholiness,_

_I used to wear uninitiated clothing, the white robes, when I was young. But when it came time for us all to switch over to either leaving the church, or becoming fully fledged Sisters of Sin, I was a Bond Servant. So I was given three uniforms: they are all the same colors, cloth and pattern. I have to mend them myself most of the time. I’ve only ever had a change of uniform twice. But yes, to answer your question, I’ve only ever worn my habit. The outfit you picked out for the luncheon was the only other thing I’ve ever worn. So, thank you, your Unholiness._

_-Ellinor_

  

_Ellinor,_

_Stop with the ‘Unholiness’. We’ve gone beyond formalities a long time ago. You are free to call me what everyone else calls me. I did not know that you had only ever worn the Bond Servant uniform. I thought you had other clothes. That was, in retrospect, naive of me and I apologize if I have dredged up something you’d rather not discuss._

_-Papa_

  

_Papa,_

_I will do as you ask and not refer to you as ‘your Unholiness’ anymore. You have nothing to apologize for. You have not dredged anything up for me. It is what it is and I am aware of it and my place within it. Thank you again though, for the opportunity._

_-Ellinor_

 

She hadn’t seen Papa, nor had she received an answer of any kind, since the last note he’d left her on the filing cabinets in his office. It had been several weeks and she had only seen him vaguely in passing or as she set up his coffee and he prepared himself for his day; though, he always made it a point to nod his head to her or take note of her presence. But Ellinor continued on with her tasks, her days ticking by, day after day. The tasks continuing and the paperwork becoming more and more organized, to the point that she soon feared she may run out of things to do for Papa. 

      Late one evening when she was walking back to her shared quarters that she noticed something amiss: the same broad shouldered Ghoul. The one she always saw in Papa’s office, was now walking past her at a brisk pace through the tight tunnels, leading to the Bond Servant quarters. He nodded his head only slightly, just enough that she noticed, and was then past her and gone back up the narrow corridor: back to the main floors. She bit her lip, wringing her hands together. She picked up speed, her flat shoes hitting the cold stone floors with a flurry. 

      It didn’t take her long to get to her shared quarters, where she found the door unlocked. She looked up the hall which she had walked down: the lights flickering here and there, the sound of water falling from above, where it would stand for all time and erode the very stone it lay upon. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. It creaked with the gentlest of squeals. The overhead light in the room was on and there, placed carefully right in the middle of her bed, was a box. It was wrapped in the finest, heaviest dark emerald green colored paper and was held together with a black, silk bow: it was picture perfect and tied expertly. 

      Ellinor took a step back out into the hall. She looked back up the way she’d come, realizing now that the Ghoul she’d passed in the hallway must have placed this here. Surely, no one else would have. She bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she took one step, then another closer to the package. She shut her door behind her quickly and quietly, hoping that no one else would come back anytime soon. She sat down on the bed next to the package, staring at it for a few moments, before sliding it up onto her lap. She tilted it this way and that, noticing how it made no sound inside of its careful wrappings. It was a solid thing. She stared at it, her eyes looking at it desperately. She noticed the care and quality of the wrapping; its weight and consistency. She’d never received anything like this, let alone having ever received a gift, ever. 

      She let go of the breath she was holding and began to remove the elegant black silk ribbon, pulling on it with ease. It came off with the gentlest of tugs and fell away, almost folding itself up in the palm of her hand. She took the time to pick it up and wrap it up on her hand; it was soft and was obviously of a very high thread count quality. She laid the wrapped up ribbon down next to her on the other side of the bed and began to undo the tape holding the wrapping paper on. She pulled it off meticulously, never ripping into it, always carefully pulling the tape away. Soon the wrapping paper began to pull off and she slid the object from its beautifully wrapped confines: it was a book. By the looks of it, this book was old. It’s cover was obviously made from cloth backed boards. Flipping through it, she noticed that its pages were hand made paper with watermarks, it had woodcut borders and its pages were clean and clear, as though no one had ever even touched it. She turned it around and looked at its spine, it said, “The Well at the World's End by William Morris” written in beautiful gold gilt lettering. She flipped it back over to its cover and opened it once more, this time to the introductory page, where she saw a note: 

_Ellinor,_

_It would appear I have something to apologize for now. This item took a considerable amount of time to procure and so I had to wait to give it to you. I apologize for this delay. You once said that you liked to read about places that you may not ever see. So I thought this would be another far off place that you would enjoy reading about, despite its being fictional. Do let me know what you thought of it._

_-Papa_

 

She stared at the note for some time. Her eyes then bounced between the note and the book, over and over again. She flipped the book over and over in her hands. This had to be a mistake: it had to be an error. There was no way his Unholiness would gift her with something of this magnitude. _Was it only for her to hold onto? Would he ask for it back?_ The questions whirled in her mind but she found herself looking through the book, flipping the pages gently as she went. It was written as it had been written originally, which meant this was a first edition. Ellinor quickly closed the book as she realized that and reached under her bed for what looked like a large suitcase. Sliding it out, she produced a key from a pouch sewn into the inside of her pillow case. The key unlocked the box with ease and she placed the book inside of it, along with the silken ribbon, pausing only to fold the wrapping paper up into a small square, before it too was placed into the box. In a last instant of remembrance, she turned around and took the note that Papa had left for her in the book in her hand. She looked down at it for a moment, her eyes scanning his handwriting once more, before placing it with all the other notes he’d given her over the last several months, during their exchanges. She stared at it all, her hand resting on the lid of the box, holding it open. She bit her bottom lip between her teeth once more, her eyes scanning the contents. The sudden and sharp realization that this was all she had in the world hit her, almost pushing the air out of her lungs. 


	20. Silk Linings

_Sweden_

_June 3rd, 1975_

_2:17 PM_

 

      “Cara,” Papa’s voice was simple and to the point as he continued to look down at what he was writing, “please take that jacket in the armoire to the seamstress for me, on your way out. It needs a button replaced on the end there.” He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand at the armoire. Ellinor said nothing but walked over to the looming, dark wood piece of furniture and opened the heavy doors. 

      “This one?” She pulled out a jacket on a wooden coat hanger and draped it casually over her arm. Papa looked up over his reading glasses at her. He blinked several times, squinting for a moment. 

      “Yes, that’s the one. See to it that she fixes that button on the end; it looks awful.” He looked back down at his paperwork, his pen flying quickly over the papers. His eyes scanning here and there, his free hand pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Ellinor said nothing but shut the doors of the armoire and latched them as she turned away. 

      “Will you need me anymore today, Papa?” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, it ticked quietly, its arms off by several minutes. Papa looked up at her as a small smile slid across his features, his fingers drumming a beat against the paperwork on his desk that only he could hear in his head. 

      “No, you’re free to go for the day, cara. Go and do whatever it is you wish to do.” She smiled at him, bowing only slightly as she turned on her heel and headed for the door. Her hand on the door knob, he called for her once more, “No chores and no cleaning, cara. Do something you want to do.” He did not look up as he spoke, but she caught the small smile on his face. She watched him for a split second, the way he kept pushing his sleeve up on his right arm, getting it out of the way of the ink on the page he was writing on.

      “Yes, Papa, I will.” She whispered and nodded as she headed out into the hallway, the jacket carefully being carried out in front of her as she shut the door behind her. She walked along the corridors and down to the main hall, stepping out of the way for a group of Sisters of Sin. She waited for them to pass before carrying on down another wing of the Church, passed the kitchens and the dining area. She walked by the classrooms, where the uninitiated were sitting in row after row, repeating whatever it was the Abbess in front of them was saying. Some of them were distracted, looking out the windows at the green lawn. The fans in the rooms whirred away, trying desperately to keep the temperature down. The halls were stone though and they were relatively cool. 

     Ellinor walked passed groups of older uninitiated and as they passed her they didn’t notice her. But she noticed them and she clung onto Papa’s jacket a little tighter. Her footsteps were soon met with silence as she entered an older part of the Church, the Church that was part of the original foundations. She was walking through the section just under the upper clergy member, and some higher ranking ghouls, quarters. This was the part of the Church that was very old and the stone walls showed that. As she rounded a corner she found herself entranced by the image outside of a warbled glass window. She stopped walking to stare, if for only a moment, at a group of Sisters of Sin as they all lay in the grass, shoes off, without a care in the world. Some of them had their veils off, strewn onto the grass. They were laughing about something and some of them were reading, laying on their backs in the grass. Ellinor sighed, pulling Papa’s jacket closer to her chest as she leaned away from the window. 

     She continued to walk down the stone corridor, passing by locked and empty rooms and beautiful stained glass windows here and there. She walked quickly passed an older door, which was set back and down into the stone wall, a large padlock was on it. She knew better than to venture there and hurried herself along, her footsteps gaining momentum as she sped up. Soon she was walking past windows which beamed full of bright light and the beautiful rainbow colors cast on the stones were entrancing. As she walked she soon saw the door at the end of the hallway, the one that was always propped open. 

     From inside she could hear someone humming as they worked, a sewing machine whirring away. She stepped inside silently and saw all around her were bolts of fabric, boxes and drawers full of buttons, thread, ribbons and sewing needles and thimbles. There was a woman crouched over an old sewing machine, she was humming away as she worked, feeding the cloth through the machine. Ellinor did not clear her throat but instead held Papa’s jacket close to her chest, she knocked on the open door. The woman at the sewing machine sat upright and turned around. 

     “Oh! You did give me a fright, dear!” She turned the machine off that she’d been working on and spun around on her stool, standing up with some struggle. She walked over to Ellinor with a broad smile on her face and her hands, the skin which looked like the most beautiful porcelain paper, were outstretched, “Is this the offending article of his _Lordship_ Emeritus the Second’s?” She winked and smiled at Ellinor as she spoke, obviously teasing and joking, but Ellinor could only flash a stiff smile and hold the jacket like a lifeline. 

     “Now, lets see the damage here,” The older woman took the jacket from Ellinor and walked over to a large table, where she laid the jacket down and inspected it. “It seems to be a simple fix, the fabric isn’t damaged, just needs a new button. But, after all, this isn’t all you’re here for! So let’s get to work!” The older woman clapped her hands, rubbing them together as she turned around and began to mutter to herself, obviously looking for something. Ellinor stood very still, her hands clasped in front of her as she watched. She was unaware of having to pick anything up but nonetheless, she waited in the doorway, her hands clasped together tightly and her back perfectly straight. The woman in front of her was humming peacefully to herself; humming a tune that Ellinor did not recognize. She was busily rifling through every box here and there, poking into drawers and over the top of bolts of fabric. 

     “Ah ha! I knew I hadn’t misplaced them.” The woman was carrying over a black leather garment bag that she laid out onto the large wooden table in the center of the room, “The bolts of fabric came in only about two weeks ago but I think we got it squared away properly!” she said sharply as she began to unzip the garment bag with the heavy golden zipper. She pulled the clothing out very carefully and held it up with one arm as she pushed the garment bag out from underneath with her other hand. She laid the clothing down onto the table and separated them. 

     “He had ordered these from me several weeks ago and we received the fabric bolts and set to work at once. As you can see, they’re made with a heavy, though soft, cotton. Grey in their coloring but it’s more of a thatch grey, so you have some lovely tones of black in there.” The woman gestured to the basic form of the garment as she spoke. Ellinor simply stared, her mouth was beginning to fall open as the seamstress continued, “The sleeves are a lovely design that his Unholiness Emeritus the Second chose himself, mind you! They button here at the wrist, so that they won’t get in your way when you’re working.” She indicated the silver buttons on the garment, “Oh! There is also no zipper, simply buttons on the side, so you can get in and out of it easily, but bending won’t be an issue, the buttons will bend and flex with your movements. A much more advanced design than anything any of the other Sisters are sporting, that I can assure you!” The seamstress laughed warmly. Ellinor stood silent and stared forward at the garments on the table. She blinked several times, the seamstress turning to stare at her for a moment, her brow was furrowed. 

     “Do you not like them, dear?” The seamstresses warm demeanor was still there, her face now more concerned than anything else, “I’m sure we can alter anything you’d like changed, don’t worry. He gave me a rough estimate of your size and I think we’ve got it almost perfectly-” 

     “No,” Ellinor blurted out abruptly, her face was white as a sheet while she spoke, “no, it isn’t that. I,” she looked around the room, licking her lips before she continued, “I wasn’t expecting this. I thought I was going to drop off his jacket. I had no knowledge of this. This is very unexpected.” She whispered the last part, almost to herself. The seamstress watched Ellinor closely for a moment before she began to nod her head, almost as if she understood too well Ellinor’s predicament. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, folding her hands in front of her as she spoke. 

     “I see,” the seamstress whispered quietly as she turned back to the garment, her hand paused on the edge of it, “well, then you should know, he did request something _curious_.” The seamstress flipped back the edge of the garment to reveal the interior: it was a gorgeous deep, dark green silk and it shone in the sunlight like pure emeralds. The seamstress watched Ellinor’s face closely as she continued, “It was a rather strange request but we were able to do it. It looks marvelous, if I do say so myself. But if you don’t want it, I can tell his Unholiness that you’d rather not wear it and I can send it back.” She let go of the garment, allowing the beautiful silk to remain visible as they spoke. Ellinor stared at it, her vision getting lost in it; she bit her lip. 

     “No, thank you, I’m glad you went to all this trouble. But I’ll,” she swallowed audibly and shifted slightly where she stood, “I’ll keep them.” She looked up into the seamstress’s eyes and forced a tight smile. The seamstress bowed her head slightly as a secretive smile spread across her features. 

     “Well, I can place the rest back into the garment bag, but you simply must try one on. We need to make sure it fits before you leave!” She turned away from Ellinor then and reached for a measuring tape, “Besides, there is a Ritual later this evening, and I’m sure you’ll want to wear it!” She smiled at Ellinor again with that bright, warm smile but Ellinor couldn’t look at her just then. She could only see the emerald green silk of the interior of that habit: her new habit, that had been specially made for her. 


	21. Acknowledgement

_Sweden_

_June 3rd, 1975_

_6:11 PM_

 

      The sun was disappearing behind the trees and the breeze whipping by was warm. People walked by at a swift pace and two Ghouls stood by the double doors of the chapel, which were flung open wide. Ellinor walked quickly, her hands neatly tucked into the pockets of her new habit. She could feel the smooth silk on the interior against the backs of her hands and it was everything she could do not to smile from ear to ear or burst out laughing from nerves. She walked with her head up but her gaze was straight ahead, looking through everyone standing in front of her as they waited to pile into the chapel. 

      She stood back on the green lawn, her hands still grazing the interior of the habits pockets. The silk lining was perfectly soft and luxurious. Every so often she felt eyes on her; every so often someone would glance at her like they were seeing her for the first time. She felt cold, exposed, like she was naked in the snow; but they were only looking at her for a moment, before looking away. She stood by the double doors, waiting for everyone else to walk in as she was soon joined by other Bond Servants. They all glanced at her, their eyes moving up and down her newly decorated form. Their habits all seemed washed out and bland; never before had Ellinor noticed how their clothes made them disappear into the background. She tried not to make eye contact with them and instead she stared down at her shoes, the same black flats that she had always worn. She focused on the green grass beneath her feet and the soft silk lining of the pockets on her new habit. 

      It wasn’t long before everyone who was anyone of any importance was inside the chapel and the Ghouls holding the doors open, gestured for the Bond Servants to enter. The small group of them walked in as quietly as they could, the Ghouls behind them now closing the doors with a resoundingly loud echoing _thud_. The rows were packed with people and the aisles were overflowing with others waiting to find a place to sit. The Bond Servants squeezed in wherever they could, as usual. But Ellinor stayed at the back, standing straight backed and upright, prepared to be on her feet for at least an hour. She did not lean against the pillar next to her, nor did she crouch down: she simply stood with her hands now clasped in front of her. To her left, cast in the shadows, were the two Ghouls who she had seen at the meeting all those weeks ago: the Overseer from the archive and the one known as Omega. She watched them out of the corner of her eye, the way they leaned into each other and spoke in whispers, their tails whipping this way and that. 

      She pulled her gaze away from them as the room began to quiet down and a Cardinal, who Ellinor had never seen, took the pulpit. His voice was boring and he droned on and on about this and that, but Ellinor did not pay any attention. She was rubbing at the marble floor with her shoe, trying to buff out a scuff on it. The Cardinal was still talking when she looked up, finally, and from across the room she made direct eye contact with him. He was seated behind the Cardinal, twirling his staff in his right hand, his skull paint perfectly applied, his one white eye standing out against the black paint he wore. His gaze was never ending and cut straight through the crowd, right to her. She did not doubt it for a moment, nor did she even think to look around and search for another; she could feel it, this gaze was for her and only her. She bowed her head just enough for him to notice over the crowd. He raised an eyebrow at her, his right hand continuing to spin the staff he held, his left hand drumming on the arm of his chair. Though in truth, it looked more like a throne. 

      The Cardinal was still blithering on, clearing his throat here and there but Ellinor was on another world now. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her palms sweating, she finally smoothed her hands down the front of her habit: her brand new habit. Papa inclined his head slightly. She pressed her hands to the fabric once more, licking her bottom lip as she did so. She wasn’t listening to the Cardinal anymore and she certainly didn’t notice the crowd murmuring at whatever it was the Cardinal was saying. 

      But then the Cardinal suddenly stepped aside, bowing as he did so, and the people around her stood up and clapped as none other then Papa himself stood up and nodded to the congregation, bowing to them as much as they were bowing to him. He stood at the pulpit and waited for the room to quiet down. There was no smile on his face, simply a stern straight line and those mismatched eyes watching out over everyone before him. He held his gloved hand up, silencing the congregation; everyone sitting down abruptly, quieting in an instant. His voice was even and measured. Everything he said was to the point and abrupt, but it was politely said: as though he had too many manners to tell the absolute truth but knew it had to be done anyway. 

      Ellinor watched but didn’t listen. She pushed her hands down into her silk lined pockets. She was entranced, focused solely on this man before her; a man she’d seen a thousand times before. But still, it felt like he was speaking only to her. Everyone else in the room seemed to blur out of focus. He did not look away from her, he did not scan the room as he had once done and he did not blink, it seemed. He stared at her, not beyond her or around her: into her. She gulped, feeling warm and suddenly acutely aware of the outfit she was wearing: clothing that Papa had picked out and made specifically for her. Ellinor drew in a sharp breath and looked down at her new habit, almost like she were looking at it for the first time all over again, only to look up and catch Papa’s mismatched eyes once more: noticing the way, as he spoke, his right eyebrow rose. It was in that moment that Ellinor realized he was speaking to the crowd about something entirely different now, not that she’d noticed, as she was too entranced by Papa’s stare. From the back of the chapel she maintained eye contact with him the entire Ritual, her hands in her pockets, her heels tightly pushed together as she stood perfectly still, waiting. But waiting for what, she did not know. 

      Finally, after an hour and a half, Papa’s voice stopped and he nodded to the congregation as he stepped away from the pulpit. He walked slowly, and deliberately, up the center aisle. Many people whispering their thanks to him and nodding to him, some bowing outright. But Papa did not stop to look at them, nor did he seem to even seen them, he simply walked past. He was looking straight ahead, directly at Ellinor, who was still standing at the very back of the chapel. He gave her the smallest sideways grin as he approached, gesturing for her to follow him as he walked by. She turned away from the congregation and trailed along in his wake, leaving the murmuring voices behind her. 

      Walking through the back of the chapel and towards the now open doors, she noticed the Ghoul, Omega, break away from leaning against the wall and follow behind Papa at a reasonable distance. As though he were an escort of sorts. Ellinor turned around and looked at him, briefly, only for him to nod at her, his hands clasped behind his back as he did so. She did not smile but instead turned back around and watched the ground in front of her. 

      It was dark when they exited the building. The moon was overhead and a blanket of silence had descended; the sounds coming from behind them were muffled. Papa walked in front of Ellinor, one foot in front of the other, his robes dragging behind him on the ground. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his voice was low as he spoke, “Cara, you can walk next to me. You don’t have to trail behind.” She said nothing but felt the creep of a gentle heat spreading across her face as she silently stepped up and around his trailing robe and walked beside him. Her hands still tucked neatly and safely into her pockets. They walked in silence for some time, leaving behind the exiting rabble of the chapel; he led her down off the concrete path and down along the edge of the hedge maze and the topiary garden. In the quiet summer night it was very peaceful. 

      “I take it you like your new clothes?” Papa asked finally, his voice was a low whisper as he spoke. Ellinor nodded, clearing her throat before speaking. 

      “Yes, thank you, Papa. You didn’t have to do this.” She looked out and away, her vision looking out over the hedge maze, watching the way the moonlight cast strange shadows over the topiary. Papa nodded but said nothing more and they continued to walk in silence, “I just noticed that the lining on the habit matches the color of your robes.” She said gently, her voice soft and shaky as she spoke; as though this were something forbidden to mention. Papa nodded briskly and turned to look at her in the eyes. 

      “I know, cara.” He raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze going from her face down to her feet for only the briefest of moments, “It fits you well though. The seamstress has done an excellent job, as usual. She is a very capable woman.” Ellinor nodded in agreement. 

      “Well, thank you. I do appreciate this.” She said as he stopped walking and turned to her. She forced a tight smile on her face, her hands still pushed into her pockets. Papa watched her closely for a moment, squinting at her momentarily, as though he were studying her. In the darkness, Ellinor couldn’t see Omega standing back and away, he was leaning with his back against the wall of the Church; obviously paying no heed to this situation. Papa continued to stare at Ellinor with that tight, heated gaze for only a moment, but it seemed to drag on for eternity; Ellinor couldn’t tear her eyes away to save her life. Finally he broke eye contact and nodded at her once again, stepping backwards and away. 

      “I’m glad you like your new clothes and I’m very glad to see that they fit well.” He paused for a moment before nodding his head to her, “I shall see you in the morning, Cara.” With that he turned on his heel, his robes dragging along behind him as he entered the Church through a back door, which Omega held open for him. The Ghoul bowed to Ellinor and with that, he too, went through the door and disappeared. 

      The night seemed to swallow her up then and she had an overwhelming urge to return to her quarters. With quick steps she was soon back to another entrance to the Church, dodging the majority of the crowd, some of them still streaming in from the Ritual earlier in the evening. Ellinor stepped briskly down a circular staircase, down, down, down, into the bowels of the Church. She walked past lights that flickered and small puddles on the floor where water pooled up. The sounds of voices echoed through the cold stone halls and she hurried herself along to her quarters, not wishing to encounter anyone. 

      Upon entering her quarters she sighed in contentment, as she was blissfully alone once more. Her new schedule working for Papa caused her to be awake during the hours that the others were asleep and so they now never saw one another. Ellinor was fine with this arrangement. She pulled her veil and her coif from her head, letting her long dark red hair, which was in a braid but pulled up into a bun all day, to spill out; falling down across her shoulders. She ran her right hand through her hair and shook it out, scratching at her scalp as she did so. She started to unbutton the habit she had on. Her hands delicately and carefully undoing the buttons on the side of it, pushing the fabric that covered the buttons out of the way as she did so. She could feel the difference in quality between this habit and the ones she’d had previously. This one was hand made and its fabric was heavy and of a good knit. 

      When the last button was free, she pulled her arms from the sleeves and the habit slide from her form and down to her feet. She caught it before it could hit the ground and as she went to fold it back up neatly, to wear for the next day, she noticed along the interior of the collar was an elaborately embroidered symbol. It was a snake wrapped around a pen, embroidered on only the interior dark green silk lining, so that it wouldn’t show on the outside of the garment. Ellinor squinted at it for a moment, staring at it and trying to place where she’d seen it before, only to gasp in realization: it was the symbol of Papa Emeritus the II. 


	22. Chess and Conclusions

_Sweden_

_June 6th, 1975_

_11:13 AM_

 

      Walking along the brick pathways that wound down from the main Church and out back into the gardens was a relatively newer experience. The afternoon sun was high and it was warmer than he had expected it would be. The bricks were uneven in very few places and it was obvious that great care had been taken to make them even and smooth. Papa walked with his hands in his pockets, his jacket unbuttoned. The warm breeze pushed his jacket open as he walked down the winding brick path to the greenhouse that sat just on the edge of the giant hedge maze. The Church was quickly disappearing behind him, obscured now by trees, hedges, large flowering plants and trellises covered in various ivies and vines. The path wound down and around all kinds of trees that had been planted years and years ago; though, the gardens caretaker had specifically requested they not be uprooted simply for a brick path and so the brick trail was built around the ancient, natural towers. 

      He followed the path down and down, away from the Church further and further. He walked alone, which was unusual as Omega would usually be with him, but this time there was no need. He knew where he was going and the path was safe; the journey's end perfectly safe as well. He found himself humming as he walked, hands in his pockets still, his shoes click clacking down onto the bricks beneath him gently. He wandered in between trees and trellises and soon a greenhouse appeared at the bottom of the hill. The doors were pulled open and inside someone was humming an audible tune, though it was a different one than what Papa was humming. 

      There were no Ghouls here. No Sisters or Brothers of Sin, no initiates, no one and nothing except the plants and their gracious and gentle spirited caretaker. Papa walked down to the end of the brick path and onto the grass, just outside the doors of the greenhouse. His shiny black shoes contrasted with the bright green grass dramatically; his dark grey suit making him stand out wholly too much in the bright green of the June afternoon. The tree overhead lending plenty of shade and the breeze that ruffled their leaves was a gentle and welcoming one. 

      “I see you made some time for me after all,” a voice called from inside the greenhouse. 

      “Well, it is a standing invitation, Aldo. After all these years, you should have expected me at this point.” Papa, his hands still in his pockets, walked towards the open doors of the greenhouse. This time he walked slowly, meandering his way to the building; he looked up briefly at the trees, watching them sway gently in the breeze. He pulled his gaze away as he stepped up onto the wooden slatted floor and sat down in one of the two chairs that were on either side of a circular bistro sized table. He leaned back into the cushioned seat, his hands clasped together in his lap. 

      “I see your collection grows everyday, brother.” Papa said quietly, watching his elder brother gently pruning a small plant he had in front of him. 

      “Yes, it does.” Aldo replied, “Though, this one was a gift from someone who could no longer care for it. So I’m trying to revitalize it, but I think I can do so. Given the proper time and attention, of course.” He said all of this as he picked up a small spray bottle and spritzed some water gently onto the soil the plant was tightly nestled in. He was attentive and careful as he did so, using the pad of his index finger to push the soil down. Finally, satisfied with his work, he placed the water bottle down and rubbed his hands together, ridding them of excess dirt. He turned around and smiled, reaching for the other chair at the table and pulling it out to sit in it. He sat back in the chair the same way his brother did. 

      “I have tea and coffee, I wasn’t sure which you’d like, so I simply had both brought down.” He gestured to the tray on the counter, next to the small bonsai plant he’d been working on. 

      “Tea, please, no sugar.” Aldo nodded and got up, quickly pouring two cups and bringing them back to the small table. Papa nodded his head, thanking him silently. There was a substantial, and yet not uncomfortable silence, that grew between them. Neither of them broke it. They sat like that for some time, sitting and drinking tea in silence. This was as it had always been. Aldo had always been an introspective and introverted man and Papa, ever the opposite, though, cold waters did indeed run deep. Finally, Aldo placed his cup down onto the small table with a _click_. 

      “Shall we play then?” He asked, already getting up to gather the chess board and the pieces, knowing full well what the answer would be. Papa said nothing, but nodded silently and began to take his jacket off, laying it smoothly out onto the back of his chair. He then unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up; he downed the remainder of his tea and placed the cup back down on its saucer, now empty. Aldo set up the board and placed the pieces where they belonged, all in a respected and welcomed silence, almost as though this were a reprieve for them both. They both chatted about this and that, small matters about the Church, what their Father was doing, how he was doing; Aldo lamenting that he did not see Father much and Papa mildly humming, secretly wishing he’d see Father less. 

      “Oh, I wanted to ask you,” Aldo said, “I saw your new assistant. She was wearing a very lovely habit. Do you care to tell me about that?” His voice did not betray him: it was even and measured, his eyes on the chess board in front of him. Papa looked up from behind his dark tinted sunglasses, noticing that his brother did not look at him and instead appeared to be waiting for him to make the next move. His hand lingered over a rook piece, his fingers gently touching the top of it before he spoke. 

      “My assistant? You mean the Bond Servant?” He moved the rook forward. His brother nodded, surveying the board and quickly moving his own rook in another direction. 

      “Yes, the Bond Servant.” Aldo leaned back in his chair, “The one with the custom made habit. The one who's been working for you since March and I must say, Vittorio, that is an awfully long track record for your assistants.” Aldo did not smile as he spoke. He simply stared ahead, straight through his younger brother. As though he could see every crack, crevice and little secret inside him. Absently the trees above them blew in the breeze, the wind chimes hanging by the greenhouse entrance softly chiming in the wind, oblivious to the conversation in the greenhouse. Papa drew in a sharp breath through his nose, quickly moving another piece, not really thinking about it anymore; simply moving the pieces to move them. 

      “Her name is Ellinor.” He grunted out, clearing his throat as he looked away from the board, out onto the dark green grass that Aldo had so carefully cultivated all these years. Aldo nodded. 

      “Ellinor. That’s a lovely name.” He moved another piece and took a sip of his tea, placing the cup down gently onto the saucer as he continued, “But that does not tell me why she wears a special habit, Vittorio.” Papa looked up at his brother, their mismatched eyes locking, Aldo with his right eyebrow raised and his hands resting in his lap: waiting. 

      “I uh,” Papa paused, his hand hovering over another piece, his fingertips perched atop it, “I had them made for her.” He moved the piece quickly and pulled away from the board, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. Aldo hummed as he leaned forward onto his forearms, examining the board. His eyes downcast at the pieces before him as he spoke, “Why so nervous, little brother?” Aldo moved a bishop piece with ease and effectiveness and leaned back into his chair once more. Bringing his right leg up to rest on his left. 

      “I’m not nervous, Aldo.” Papa said under his breath, leaning forward on the table once more, examining the board before him. Aldo simply smiled. 

      “So, what’s so very special about this Ellinor?” Aldo asked, his voice gentle like the breeze that was rustling the leaves above them. Papa sighed, moving a rook forward, again not paying any attention to where he was moving it, simply moving it to move it. He shifted in his seat, looking around the greenhouse absently from behind dark tinted sunglasses. Papa waved his hand dismissively in the air, making a face as he did so. 

      “She’s very good at her job, Aldo.” He moved another piece on the board, once more not caring where or why.

      “Good enough for you to take her to meetings?” Aldo moved his bishop once more, this time leaning on his forearms against the table. His mismatched eyes boring through his younger brother once more. Papa swallowed audibly and tilted his head this way and that. 

      “She is very good at taking notes, Aldo.” He did not move his piece on the board and instead locked his gaze with his brothers. They sat like that for a few moments, the sounds of the breeze overhead fluttering against the leaves again. Distantly, the sounds of giggling Sisters and Brothers of Sin could be heard, no doubt having a lovely time in Aldo’s hedge maze that he so carefully and painstakingly cared for day after day. 

      “Surely that cannot be all, Vittorio? Taking notes? Being good at her job? That’s it? Come now, don't take me for a fool. I raised you better than that, didn’t I?” Aldo leaned back in his chair, their game of chess now forgotten. His elder sitting in front of him with a cross expression on his face. Aldo’s mouth a straight line; his mismatched eyes cutting through Papa like knives. Papa sighed;  taking the opportunity to lean back in his chair, allowing his hands to fall into his lap.

      “She is,” he opened his mouth to say something but shut it again with a clink of his teeth, only to open it once more on an exhale, “intelligent. She is interesting to talk to. She sees through people, like you do!” He pointed at his brother then for emphasis. Aldo smiled, chuckling quietly, waiting for his brother to continue. Papa looked down at his hands in his lap, “She has self respect and integrity.” He said quietly, almost a phantom of a whisper. Aldo’s left eyebrow arched. Papa chuckled to himself, leaning forward again against the table, “You know, I hit on her when I was drunk one night. Acting like a fool, as usual. Coming back from one of Father’s horrible parties.” Aldo grimaced, rolling his eyes as they both shared a laugh, “So, I hit on her and she shut me down just as plain as day and so politely. She never got offended though. She never said a word. Though, she never judged me for it either.” He smirked to himself, looking out once more into the green grass and the trees that surrounded Aldo’s sanctuary. The silence that descended on them was welcoming and warm. It begged not to be interrupted and so neither of them did. They sat in silence and listened to the wind blowing, the boughs of the trees moving high above, the far off sounds of laughter and chatter distantly echoing across the grounds. 

      “You know, Vittorio, it’s alright to care for someone.” Aldo said softly, “You obviously care about this woman more than I’ve ever seen you care about, well, anyone.” He chuckled lightly but Papa simply nodded his head tightly, still gazing out through tinted glass onto the green grass stretched out before him, leading up to the brick path, back to the Church. Aldo sighed, scooting his chair away from the table and standing as he continued, “It’s perfectly natural to care for someone, and to care for them deeply, it is not a sin, Vittorio. It is a blessing.” Papa looked up at his elder brother, their mismatched eyes meeting once more. He nodded tightly once more as Aldo gathered their cups and went to pour more tea. Papa watched the grass again, his eyes fixed on it, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched together. But that was when he heard it: Aldo humming to himself. 

      Papa looked up at his older brother's back as he poured more tea, humming to himself as he did so. The tea pot clinked gently against the edge of each cup as Aldo hummed the tune to a song Papa thought he’d never hear ever again, “Aldo, is that Lena Horne?” He asked tentatively. Aldo turned around, holding the two teacups in his hands and smiled a broad, beaming smile as he set both cups down onto the table, “Of course, Vittorio. Lena Horne’s ever famous, ‘Deed I Do’, I dare say you should know it. After all, it is a family favorite.” He sat back down across from Papa and gestured to the chess game in front of them. Papa nodded mutely, thinking back the song his brother had been humming realizing how important those lyrics were now, after all these years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned by Lena Horne can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ1PB0LWrgM


	23. The Dam Breaks

_Sweden_

_June 7th, 1975_

_9:12 PM_

 

     Night had descended, and with it the warmth of the day was gone. Even the moon was obscured behind dark clouds. The breezes in the high boughs of the trees from earlier that day had lost their tranquility and instead, whipped the branches into a frenzy of eerie creaks and groans. Ellinor was in her quarters, folding laundry and sheets. She took great care in matching the corners up and bringing them together with efficiency and ease. Everything was folded with great care and sharp edges; everything was placed down neatly and orderly on the bed in front of her. She was wearing her night shift, which in truth, was just an over sized T-shirt she’d found abandoned in the laundry room many years prior. Having smuggled it back upstairs with her clean clothes, she had kept it ever since. No one had ever questioned it. 

     As she folded her laundry in the dim light of the room, she kept looking down at the box under her bed; the corner of it sticking out ever so slightly. Her hands moved automatically, folding the towel she held as her gaze locked onto the box. She quickly laid the folded towel down onto the bed and crouched down, pulling the box out completely. She dug her hand into the small pocket stitched into her pillow, looking for the small key to the lock. She opened the box with practiced ease, pushing the heavy lid up and leaning back against the edge of her bed. 

     Inside were all manner of things: some strange stones she’d found once in the river when she was an uninitiated, a drawing someone had made for her when they were children, some pressed flowers someone had given her once upon a time, the book that Papa had given her was nestled inside, but alongside it, in an envelope all on their own, were the notes. The notes from the meeting that day back in March and subsequently every single note that Papa had given her over the course of the last few months. She stared at the envelope, gulping audibly, her throat becoming tighter as her mind raced. She rested her hand on the lid of the box, drumming her fingers on its edge. She looked up at the new habits he’d had made for her, hanging in her shared closet: they were beautiful things and against her fellow Bond Servants habits, they did stand out. Something Ellinor had never wanted. She hated to stand out or to be in the way, she’d learned from an early age that standing out brought trouble and with trouble, came pain. 

     She reached out to the envelope in the box and pulled it from its safe hiding spot. She flipped open the rough paper flap and filed through them. Naturally, they were all ordered by date. She scanned through them, not really reading them as she had already committed them all to memory, but simply looking at them. She looked at her habits once again, hanging still and silent in the closet. She felt that same tight horrible feeling in her chest. The one that wouldn’t go away no matter what she told herself. 

     Lost in her reverie, she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hall until it was almost too late. She quickly put the envelope back and slammed the lid of the box shut, locking it quickly in one motion, as one of her fellow Bond Servants was turning the handle to the door and opening it with ease. Ellinor pushed the box back under her bed and stood up quickly, going back to folding her laundry. Her roommate shut the door behind herself and began to take her veil off in the mirror of the shared sink. Her hands worked quickly to undo the bobby pins and the headband that held it all in place over her light colored hair. Ellinor continued to fold her laundry. Finally, her roommates veil was off and she was setting about to wash her face and hands. The sound of running water filled the small room, the steam from the hot faucet fogged up the mirror quickly. 

     “I didn’t mean to intrude on you tonight.” The roommate said quietly as she turned the water off and reached for a hand towel to dry her face with. Ellinor continued to look at her laundry, keeping her eyes downcast. 

     “It’s alright, Lena. It’s your room too.” Ellinor said quietly, still folding her towels. Lena nodded silently as she reached for her hair brush, running it through her long hair quickly. 

     “Yes, but you had an expectation that you would be here alone at night, now.” Lena ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle a larger knot, “Now that you work for his Unholiness.” Ellinor turned to look at other woman, who was now putting her hair brush down and pulling her hair back, getting ready to braid it. 

     “It’s still your room too though.” Ellinor said, squinting slightly at the woman now. Lena sighed, pulling the last bit of hair into the braid her had in her hands. As she tied it at the end and pulled it up into a bun on the back of her head, she used the bobby pin to secure it; looking at herself in the mirror as she did so. Lena let out a sigh as she turned to look at the other woman, standing there in her night shift, her clean, neat, incredibly well folded clothes in a pile. Her box of personal belongings sticking out slightly from under the bed. Lena tilted her head slightly, looking at the box, she folded her arms in front of her. 

     “I’m worried about you, Ellinor.” Lena’s voice was hurried and she looked over her shoulder as she spoke, as though someone might be there in that small room with them, listening. 

     “What? Why?” Ellinor asked, almost in a whisper. Lena shifted from one foot to the other. 

     “I,” Lena paused for a moment, her hands wringing together in front of her, “your new habits, they’re beautiful. They were custom made. For you.” 

     “Yes, I know,” Ellinor said softly, “why does that worry you though? I did not request them, if that’s what you think.” Ellinor placed the last folded towel down onto the bed, standing back up and folding her arms across her chest; waiting. 

     “No, I know you didn’t. It’s just that,” Lena smiled with a warm, soft expression and she paused for a moment, searching for the words, “those habits were requested, and given to you, by the man who is the head of this entire Church.” Lena’s voice lowered to a raspy whisper as she stepped closer to Ellinor. “I saw the package left on your bed that day. It was the most elaborately wrapped thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Ellinor looked down, her cheeks flushing bright red; she hadn’t thought anyone had known, let alone, seen it. Lena looked around the room for a moment, sighing. 

     “I just, I don’t want you to fly too close to the sun, Ellinor. You could be burned, worse, completely destroyed.” Ellinor nodded silently, but she couldn’t stop her face from breaking into a wide grin. Lena furrowed her brow. 

     “So what if I get destroyed?” Ellinor said almost inaudibly, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke, she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead for a moment, “What does it matter if I get destroyed? This has been the best thing I’ve ever done!” She kept sniffling as she spoke, her eyes filling with hot tears that threatened to spill over at any moment, her hands fell to her sides as she laughed again, “I’ve never had anyone care about my opinion. No one has ever bothered to ask me what I thought about something. I’ve never been given anything, ever, Lena. I’ve always just been plain and quiet and invisible.” She looked up at the other woman, her green eyes wide and sparkling with tears, the rims pink. Ellinor sniffled as she gestured to Lena, holding out her hand towards her, “You’ve been given things! You were given things by that Cardinal! Many _things_ , as I recall.” Lena turned bright red at that truth, her mouth a straight line. 

     “He was just a Cardinal, Ellinor. He wasn’t his Unholiness Papa Emeritus the Second.” Lena’s voice was tight and hot. Ellinor laughed, letting her hands flop against her sides as the tears in her eyes finally spilled over and ran down her face. 

     “So? So what if he is? He doesn’t mistreat me. He doesn’t ask me to do things that I don’t want to do. He wants to know what I think about things. He wants my opinion. He lets me walk beside him, instead of following behind him like a _dog_.” Ellinor spit out the last word like it was the last bit of poison in her body. Her eyes were wide and the hot tears were running down her cheeks like a river. Lena shrunk away, but Ellinor took a step towards her. 

     “How can you tell me to be careful of being destroyed when there is nothing else and there has never been anything else?” Ellinor’s hands were visibly shaking as she spoke, “I don’t care if it lifts me up for only a year or a few months, or gives me something to look forward to for only a short time in my life! I don’t care if it all comes crashing down and it burns so badly on the other side, then fine! I’ll take it,” the only sound in the room was the unsteady breaths Ellinor was taking, “and I’ll let it destroy me.” 

     “I just didn’t want you to get hurt, Ellinor.” Lena said quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted to warn you. I’m sorry.” Lena looked down at the stone floor, her hands still tightly wringing together in front of her; her eyes brimming with tears. Ellinor shook her head, her eyes closed for a moment as she drew in a few jittery breaths. 

     “It’s okay, Lena. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you or,” she looked down at the floor for a moment, her eyes brimming with new tears now, “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the Cardinal thing. I apologize.” Lena gave a forced smile and wiped the tears at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. 

     “It’s alright,” she cleared her throat, “I shouldn’t have made it sound like I was attacking you, I wasn’t. I just really don’t want you to get hurt and I’ve heard things, you know?” She looked up then, wiping her tears away once more with her sleeve as she took in a steadying breath. Ellinor nodded, her eyes fixed on the corner of the box sticking out from under her bed. 

     “We all have, Lena.” Ellinor forced a smile. Lena gave her one in return. 

     “I have to go now, I’ve lingered too long and I have night duties to attend to.” Lena said as she turned and grabbed her veil, putting it on quickly and adjusting it in the mirror. It was still slightly askew as she placed her hand on the door handle. As Lena turned to leave, the door still shut, she spoke over her shoulder once more, “I do hope that it works out, Ellinor. I hope you get what you want.” Lena said quickly, with no smile on her face, before pulling open the door and shutting it quietly behind her. Ellinor listened as Lena’s footsteps faded down the stone hallway and soon she was alone again. She could feel herself begin to shake, her eyes welling up once more. She tried wiping her tears away with the heels of her hands, but that was fruitless. Finally, she sat down on her bed, her hands covering her face as she cried in a hot, thick silence. That horrible taut, burning feeling in her chest resuming with full body wracking power again. She rocked back and forth sitting on the bed, her legs pulled up against her chest, like she used to when she was young. She drew in deep gasping breaths; uncaring if anyone heard her anymore. 


	24. Information and Whiskey

_Sweden_

_June 10th, 1975_

_11:17 PM_

 

     The warm summer air did not stop Papa from sitting in front of his fireplace that evening, whiskey in hand. He was busy drinking away emotions he didn’t understand and didn’t know what to do with. He sat slumped in his chair, staring at the flames. He watched them lick at one another, dancing here and there, curling around each other, entwining their way over and through the logs. He took large sips of his whiskey, his eyes focused on the flames in front of him. His bathrobe hung open, his feet flat on the floor in front of him. He sighed, taking another swig of his whiskey before rattling the ice in his glass, realizing that it was empty, again. He got up, begrudgingly, and headed to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself another glass, adding one more piece of ice, before taking another sip and topping it off once more. He was looking to drown himself tonight and he knew it. 

     He grabbed the glass in one hand and began to walk around the warm office. It was almost too hot, but the ceiling fans mixed with the open windows were helping at least a little bit with the movement of the air; _at least it isn't stuffy_ , he thought. The only light was that of the fireplace, the others were all off and he found himself wandering around in the dark. But he knew his office well enough to know the steps, where not to step, where the edge of the chaise lounge was. He knew nothing had moved, after all, Ellinor would never move anything and he certainly hadn’t moved anything. So nothing had changed and now he was free to drunkenly wander throughout his office; his robe hanging open and his whiskey sloshing in his glass. The ice tinkling against the sides of the crystal snifter, sending a sharp noise echoing throughout the high ceilings.

     He found himself drumming and dragging his fingers across the keyboard of his piano. Only applying enough pressure to cause some of the highly tuned keys to sing, but not enough to make any sort of coherent tune. But he sighed and moved along, back towards his walls covered in books of all kinds. The covers were mismatched colors that popped out through the darkness; some were bright and others were pitch black, but most were shades of grey. Simply blobs on shelves and he didn’t know their locations well enough to say which one was which. He stared at them for a bit. In the dark they appeared like they were judging him, watching him, looking down on him almost. As though this was all he had in the world that was his and his alone. No one had quite the collection he had and he knew that. He took another sip of his whiskey. Then wandered his way back to his chair, his feet moving sluggishly. He dragged an errant hand across the books on the middle shelf as he walked by. His fingers caught on the edge of an empty space and he stopped. Squinting in the darkness he could see that a book was indeed missing. It’s neighboring tome was leaning against the other in the middle books absence. He grinned: an honest alcohol fueled smile. He tapped the wooden shelves empty spot, no dust came off, and chuckled to himself. 

     “ _Ellinor_ ,” he said out loud as he took another swig of his drink. Knowing full well she must have that book somewhere. He hoped she was enjoying it, wherever she was in this large, cold stone monstrosity they call home. He grinned from ear to ear as he began to wander back to his chair. His steps becoming more fluid, his bare feet hitting the wooden floors harder, his robe billowed out behind him as he walked a little too fast. But he finally found himself flopping safely down into his chair once more, his whiskey glass almost empty again. He cursed, “Now I have to get back up again.” But his vision caught on the flames in front of him once more. He was entranced. His mind muddled and mulled. He kept thinking about what his brother had said, _“You obviously care about this woman more than I’ve ever seen you care about, well, anyone.”_ His brothers words had echoed in his mind all day. He sneered into his whiskey, rolling his eyes as he downed the last few precious drops. He poured the ice into his mouth, crunching up the cubes quickly and efficiently. It was loud and did an excellent job drowning out his thoughts, if only for a moment.

     His glass sat empty now. He sighed, his gaze locked on the lead crystal snifter. He could see the fireplace through it, the flames making strange movements and patterns through the crystal. He picked it up and tilted it this way and that, watching the way the light bounced through it in the otherwise darkened room. Finally, he put it back down on the side table by his chair. He got up again, wandering around his office, towards the large window that overlooked the courtyard down below. He watched as two night groundskeepers walked the paths in the darkness, simply making their rounds. His reverie was interrupted by his office door opening and shutting loudly; he sighed, turning around to see Omega walking towards him. In his hand he had an envelope. Papa turned back to the window as Omega approached, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors.

     “I have some paperwork that you may be interested in.” He said as he walked up to the desk and threw the paperwork down on it; the file sliding across the top. Papa drew in a breath as he turned around and walked back to the desk. He didn’t bother sitting down, he simply picked the file up and opened it. He stared at its contents, squinting, for several moments. 

     “Omega,” his voice low, “pardon me, for I’ve had several drinks this evening, but what am I looking at?” He held the file open in his hand and turned to stare at his most favorite of Ghouls. Omega gave a sharp nod before answering. 

     “You wanted more information on the Bond Servant,” Omega gestured to the file, “this is the rest of it.” Papa stood silent and still for several moments, his glare seemed eternal as it cut through Omega. 

     “I thought you said that there wasn’t anymore? I believe the words were, ‘If Alpha said there isn't anything else, then there isn't anything else’, followed by a noncommittal shrug.” Papa looked up at the ceiling as he spoke; waiting. Omega shifted in place, his hands clasped behind his back, his tail whipping this way and that sharply. 

     “I asked him to look again,” Omega’s voice was deep and low as he spoke, almost as though he were speaking about something he was sworn not to speak about at all, “he did some _research."_  Papa arched an eyebrow, looking at Omega with a side long gaze. Omega did not break his eye contact with Papa; his back straight, his feet shoulder length apart, his tail whipping and curling around his leg. 

     “Research?” Papa asked simply, completely still. Omega nodded.

     “Yes, I remembered the name on the Bill of Sale. A man named Stieg Holm. Alpha did me the courtesy of looking him up, digging up some documents. We found an obituary for him, not long after he,” Omega paused, tilting his head to the left, buying some time and searching for words. 

     “Sold, Omega. He sold his daughter to the church, you can say it for what it is.” Papa filled in the blank, closing the file and dropping it on the desk as he walked over to his chair by the fireplace, flopping down into it. Omega following closely behind. 

     “Alpha found an obituary for him. No daughter was mentioned on it. He also found the name of the sister who took her in that night.” Papa raised an eyebrow, his eyes watching the flames in the fireplace. 

     “Did he now? And pray tell, Omega, what was her name?” Papa’s voice was a low whisper, his eyes never leaving the fireplace in front of him; his robe apathetically still hanging open. 

     “Sister Marta Ankar, she is still alive. She left this location many years ago though and is now at another location in Switzerland.” Omega said nothing more but stood behind Papa’s chair, a dark shadow cast out behind him from the light of the fireplace. The room fell into a deep silence for several long moments. Papa sighed, leaning his chin into his hand, his elbow propping up his head as he stared into the flames in front of him. 

     “Do you think she remembers, Omega? Do you think she’ll remember Stieg Holm and the little girl he sold away into everlasting servitude?” He chuckled, a bitter, dark sound: an angry sound. Omega shifted uncomfortably for the first time all evening. 

     “I cannot speak to that, Sir. But I do suggest you make a phone call, perhaps you, Papa, can find out far more than Alpha and I can.” He bowed to the back of Papa’s chair before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. 

     “Omega.” Papa called clearly from across the room. Omega stopped in his tracks; turning around silently, staring and waiting. “Tell me, is this wrong? Am I crossing a boundary I am not meant to cross?” He turned his head and stared at the Ghoul from across the large room, the fireplace lighting up only Papa in his chair, robe open, barefooted and drunk. Omega took a moment but slowly shook his head. 

     “You are Papa Emeritus the Second, your Unholiness. You do whatever it is you _wish_ to do, whether that crosses a boundary or not, is not anything for me to decide.” Papa gave a stern nod. 

     “That’ll be all, Omega. Good work, though.” He pointed to the Ghoul and smirked. Omega bowed once more, before turning quickly and taking his leave. The heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him, leaving Papa to his thoughts once more. He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, he hummed to himself as he continued to stare into the fireplace. 

     “Sister Marta Ankar and Stieg Holm,” he said their names out loud for a moment, as though it would summon them suddenly to him; though, it did no such thing. He sighed as he stood up and wandered around in a circle, walking around and around his chair and his desk, drunkenly muddling his way through his own thoughts. Only to wind up back at his desk, flipping open the file Omega had brought him. He stared down at it: inside was a copy of an obituary of Stieg Holm, no mention of a daughter though. Papa shook his head, “One last slap, eh Stieg? To let her fall away out of the history books? Hoping the world would forget her?” He sniffed indignantly as he flipped through the rest of the paperwork: a copy of Sister Marta’s transfer agreement, a copy of Ellinor’s permanent status as a Bond Servant, and curiously, her actual contract, that she had signed upon her 18th birthday. He picked it up, reading through it briefly. He laid it back down into the file and closed it. 

     He pulled out a drawer in his desk and put the file down into it, not wanting Ellinor to find that just yet. Not until he had all the pieces to the puzzle. He slammed the drawer shut and with a _clink_ it was locked away. He turned away from his desk and flopped back down into his chair by the fireplace, his vision now blurry and woozy. His head swimming with too many thoughts; his chest burning with too many emotions he didn’t know what to do with. He stared into the flames in front of him and as he fought sleep, he could swear he saw her there, moving in those flames. Her plain, lithe outline in front of him, tugging at everything in him, beckoning him to join her, to burn with her forever and ever, no matter the cost: “Ellinor,” he whispered quietly as he drifted off into sleep. 


	25. Miscommunication

_Sweden_

_June 12th, 1975_

_1:24 PM_

 

     Ellinor sat on the floor of Papa’s office, her new habit pooling around her like a grey cloud as she rifled through a box of books. The heavy fabric was still breathable and even with the heat outside, the stone walls of the church coupled with the ceiling fans in the room, kept the temperature reasonable. She was digging through a box of books that had obviously not seen the light of day for some time. Papa sat behind her, at his desk, going over paperwork and humming to himself as he did so. His glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows; his jacket was neatly hung over the back of his chair. 

     The box was full of older books. Some of them small, some large, others still were oddly proportioned, but all of them were covered in dust and dirt. Ellinor had a rag next to her as she worked. She’d gently wipe off one book cover and then the edges, freeing it of any cobwebs and dust. She had been doing this over and over throughout the morning. Placing the clean books back down in a pile to her left. Behind her, Papa was talking on the phone, his voice was monotone and uninterested. She couldn’t hear what was being said, only that he was neither confirming, nor denying, whatever it was the other person wanted. He simply hummed his way through the conversation, leaning back in his chair; the springs in it squealing as he did so. She turned back to her work, cleaning off book after book. It was monotonous but easy. 

     Though, in truth, she began to notice a theme: one after another, after another, the books coming out of the box were children’s stories. Some of them were titled she had never heard of and yet still more some were very popular titles. Papa was still on the phone behind her as she opened up one particularly old copy of _The Land of Long Ago_ by Elsa Beskow. Ellinor smiled, remembering this title as being one that a Sister of Sin had read to them before bed when they were children. She dusted it off with the rag in her hand. She cast her mind back to how she and her fellow uninitiated had all laid on their stomachs on the floor of their dormitory, eagerly listening and hanging off of every word spoken. 

     She opened the cover of the book, the dust jacket was in terrible condition and was beginning to dry rot, the corners of it gently crumbling away in her hand. As she attempted to open it further, the spine cracked and crinkled in protest. She grimaced. As she opened it further she dragged her fingers across the title page and a slow smile spread across her face at the memory of this otherworldly tale of dragons and trolls and knights and princesses. It was then that she noticed it: a black and white picture tucked under the edge of the inside jacket on the book. She pulled it out and looked at it for a long moment: the two people in the photograph were holding hands, one was a child and the other a woman with beautiful dark, long curly hair. It was clearly summer in the photograph, as the boy was wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt, his curly dark hair short but was of the same consistency as the woman he was holding hands with. Ellinor flipped the photograph over and on the back, in a beautiful calligraphy script was written “Mother, 1932”. 

     Ellinor gave a small gasp and turned around to look at Papa, who was now off the phone and shaking his head. He was writing furiously, his glasses sliding down his nose as he muttered to himself. She looked at him for a moment, biting her bottom lip, then looked back down at the photograph in her hand. It was blurry and old, it was a poorly taken photograph, something taken quickly and hurriedly. The woman was smiling broadly though and the young boy was too. Ellinor turned back again and looked at Papa, who now stopped what he was doing and turned to her. 

     “What is it, cara?” He asked with a small smile on his face, “did you find anything awful in there?” He pulled his glasses off and placed them down onto his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he pushed his chair away from his desk. His footsteps were slow and methodical as he walked over to where she sat on the floor, surrounded by books and rags. 

     “I found this photograph, tucked away on the inside jacket of this book.” She held it up for him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ellinor turned the picture back around, looking at it once more. “Do you know this woman? Is this you?” She asked, smiling as she looked up at him. But her smile was gone just as quickly as it had appeared: Papa had stopped in his tracks, his hands clenched into fists in his pockets, his eyes wide and the smile on his face was long gone. The very air in the room seemed to change and it became thick and heavy. Ellinor stopped smiling, “Are you alright?” She asked quietly. His gaze was locked onto the photograph she still held in her hands. He took the last few steps towards her with intense speed and held his hand out. 

     “Give it here,” he said, the words rigid as they fell out of his mouth, dripping in ice and daggers. Ellinor looked at it one last time, her gaze flitting between the photograph and the man standing beside her for a fraction of a second before he bent down and simply took it from her. He turned on his heel, staring at it intently as he walked back to his desk with sharp, heavy footsteps. He sat down in his chair and continued to look at the photograph for only a moment before reaching for the keys in his pocket and unlocking the center drawer in his desk. He placed the photo inside and slammed the drawer, shoving the key in and locking it once more: the key being rushed back into his pocket. Ellinor sat on the floor in silence; the room now suddenly oppressive and constricting. She closed the book she’d found the photo in and dusted it off, cleaning it with the rag meticulously. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Her brow furrowed as she stood up, book in hand, and walked over to Papa’s desk. 

     “Here’s the book I found it in,” she laid it down on his desk and began to turn away, back to her work. 

     “Just put it with the others,” his voice was clipped and taut. She turned back halfway, looking at him over her shoulder. 

     “You don’t want it with the photograph?” She asked, “Do they not go together? Well, no matter then, it can go with the others.” She tried to force a laugh as she reached back for the book. He drew in a sharp breath and looked up at her, his eyes were wide and his mouth was a straight, tight line. It was the same harsh face she’d seen that first day she met him, all those months ago, back in March. It was that same cold, stern face she’d seen at rituals; that same judgmental gaze he cast out over all of them before him as though they were nothing more than disposable objects. She did not fight it though, she found herself stricken still by it; locked in place, her fingers on the spine of the book. His voice was low as he spoke.

     “Leave it,” he said sharply, before looking back down at his paperwork in front of him. She released her hold on the spine of the book. She watched him for a moment, her mouth opening and shutting, unsure of what to say, if anything at all. He did not look up as he spoke, “If you have nothing else to do, you are free to go.” His voice fell on her like freezing rain. But nonetheless, she walked back to the pile of books and began gently placing them all back into their box. She felt the corners of her eyes prick and burn but she kept blinking, trying to hold it back. As she packaged up the books, she realized he hadn’t spoken to her like that since she’d met him. Since those first few weeks where she was just a Bond Servant in a poorly sewn habit, who looked at the floor when she was spoken to. She picked the box up and placed it with the others. Dusting off her hands with the rag, she had her back to Papa, who was still sitting at his desk, his fingers drumming harshly on the dark wood. She did not turn around to him as she spoke. 

     “I have no other work to do, unless there is something you’d specifically like for me to do?” She asked, as she folded up the rag in her hands and turned around to face him. She did not look down but placed the rag on the desk in a neat pile. He did not look up. Her hands clasped in front of her tightly, waiting. But he simply shook his head. She swallowed hard and nodded, turning on her heel, she headed towards the door. As she walked past the chaise lounge she stopped and turned back to him. She watched him: his eyes were still wide and he wasn’t doing anything, he was simply staring at the paperwork in front of him, his hand was not moving. He was holding his head up with his left hand, his right leg bouncing frantically under his desk. 

     “You’re lucky you know,” she said loudly and pleasantly, a smile on her face, her voice carrying across the office. He looked up at her, confusion on his face as she continued, “That picture is of you and your Mother. I don’t have any pictures of my parents. I don’t even really remember them.” He leaned back in his chair, his tongue running along his teeth. He watched her closely, his eyes squinted tightly. 

     “I thought you didn’t have anything else to do for the day?” He asked coldly, his left eyebrow rose threateningly, as it once had before: a challenge. Ellinor flashed a bitter smile at the floor, her eyes beginning to glaze over. She did not look up. 

     “No, I don’t. You’re right. I will see you in the morning,” she paused as she looked up from the floor before continuing, “ _your_ _Unholiness_.” She grit her teeth together tightly and, without another word, she quietly walked out of his office, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. She left him there, sitting perfectly still in his chair and in complete silence for several minutes. Until finally he let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his desk. Inside the drawer was the picture: his Mother and his three-year-old self staring back at him. He kept studying it: wondering where all those years had gone, wondering where his Mother had gone, wondering if she had ever told his Father that she loved him, wondering if his Father had ever really cared about his Mother at all or if it was all just a waste of time. If it was all just another piece of his Father’s bizarre puzzle, in a game that no one else understood, nor would ever be able to play. A portion of him couldn’t believe that Ellinor of all people would find this lost relic of his past; find it shoved into the cover of his favorite childhood book. His mind whirled around that fact and he kept staring at the photograph, thinking about all the time that had gone by; thinking about all that wasted time. 

     He looked over at the clock on the mantelpiece: it was 2:11 PM. Suddenly, he realized that she'd called him 'his Unholiness' and she hadn't done that in months. Just as that thought crawled through his brain everything seemed to hit him all at once, like a wave, and it knocked him completely off center. He slammed the open drawer shut and tucked the picture safely inside his shirt pocket as he stood up. He unrolled his sleeves faster then he’d ever done in his life and didn’t even bother buttoning them. He pulled his jacket on and didn’t adjust it at all as he swiftly walked towards his office door. His footsteps pounded on the hardwood floors and his mouth was dry but he refused to let himself become like his Father, by hurting Ellinor as his Father had hurt his Mother, with callous disregard. He reached for the door to his office and was quickly through it, allowing it to slam shut behind him. 


	26. As It Was Foretold

_Sweden_

_June 12th, 1975_

_5:17 PM_

 

     The halls were full of people at this hour. Many of them walking to dinner or perhaps just leaving, but they all moved aside as Papa walked past them, storming down the stone hallways and paying no one any heed. He was on a mission. He walked up and down each hall. Searching for Ellinor would prove to be no easy task: the Church itself was huge and it seemed that wherever he went, she wasn’t there. He traversed up stair cases and down, he scoured through the kitchen and even went down to the tailors quarters and work area. He ventured down to the gardens on the grounds, just south of the sprawling of compound, and walked through the greenhouses. He caught himself stopping at the entrance to the hedge maze, wondering if he should take the time to look in there, but decided against it. 

     He walked through the garages and startled the Brothers of Sin working there, two of them shining and waxing cars with old rags, exchanging alarmed glances as Papa stalked off again up the gravel driveway. The sun was going down as he approached the farthest western wing of the compound, a single unused wooden door, obscured mostly by ivy, was the only entrance on this side of the wing. His hands were pushed down into his pockets as he walked up the sloping gravel drive, heading for the main entrance. The sky cast a colorful array all over the compound and the grounds. For a moment, Papa stopped and stared at it: the sunlight bouncing off of his sunglasses. He gave an irritated sigh and continued to walk up the gravel driveway back to the main entrance. 

     Inside the main hall, the amount of people had died down. The foot traffic passing by was less and the soft murmuring sounds of people speaking was gentle and distant. Papa stood in the center of the main hall, sunglasses still on, hands still in his pockets. He stood perfectly still in the center dais of the marble floor, staring upwards at the towering ceiling, towards the stained glass dome in the roof. He could see the last tendrils of sunlight peeking through the beautifully colored stained glass. For just a flash of a moment, he remembered being very young, and he and his brother would run around both their Mothers in this main hall. Where they were walking through on their way to somewhere else, children in tow. But the memory was hazy at best and he shook his head, looking back down at the white marble floors under his black shoes. He looked up, running his tongue over his teeth, pushing the memory away, back into the recesses of his mind. He went back to pondering if it was worth it to scour the hedge maze for Ellinor, when he noticed a Sister of Sin to his distant left, walking into the huge, dimly lit library. 

     He took off at once, his shoes snapping down sharply. The library was not a place he’d been in a very long time and as he entered the double doors he found himself looking each shelf up and down. Row after row passed by and even he, with his own personal collection of special, expensive and rare tomes, found himself somewhat in awe of how the Churches collection had grown. It seemed so much more than it ever had been when he was younger. As he passed by shelves and rows of books and little reading areas and sitting nooks, he became increasingly flustered. Especially now that he’d gone over the entire grounds and the church it seemed and not knowing where to turn next. He stood in front of the large fireplace at the far end of the library, its stone mantelpiece towering over him and its large hearth sitting empty and cold. He stared into the blackened ashes that remained from the last time it had been lit, and wondered where on the grounds she could possibly be, when a thought occurred to him: her own quarters. He spun around, looking up the length of the library that he’d walked down, “But where _are_ her quarters?” He whispered to himself, realizing suddenly that he’d never even asked her. 

     He looked around the library for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth as he thought. The light filtering through the ancient glass windows was fading fast and the candles in their sconces were carefully being lit by a Brother of Sin who hummed quietly to himself as he worked. Papa watched him for only a moment before he began to walk back the way he’d come. He had made up his mind: deciding to go back to the kitchens and ask someone where the Bond Servant quarters were, when he passed by a row of shelves that looked just a bit too tightly pushed together. He stopped walking abruptly and turned towards the narrow passage. But even in the fading light, he was able to see an old wooden door that seemed like it was crammed into the stone wall just a little too tightly, as though someone were trying to hide it from prying and passing eyes. He clenched his fists in his pockets and looked around the room for the fraction of a second, before he began to walk quickly towards the out of the way door. 

     It creaked open slowly, but he had an immediate feeling that he’d been in that room before; some far off memory flashing in the recesses of his mind. Everywhere he looked were boxes and piles of paper, books laid upon books, and scrolls and stray objects, many of which probably had no other home. All of them were strewn about the room haphazardly. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed just how dark it was in the room: it was all encompassing. The glass windows had been covered, but with what he couldn’t tell. The shadows from the lit fireplace at the end of the room stretched all over and seemed to cling to everything they touched. He squinted, looking up ahead of him, towards the end of the room. Sitting directly in front of the fireplace, at an over-sized desk, was a tall Ghoul; his shadow outlined in the gloom by the brightly burning fire behind him. 

     The Ghoul looked up from his desk. His head tilted slightly, as though he were thrown off guard by the sudden intrusion. He laid his pen down and pushed his chair back, towards the fireplace behind him. He stood up to his full height, his hands clasped behind his back, as he stepped out from behind his desk and bowed. 

     “Your Unholiness, may I assist you?” The Ghoul stood up, his tail swishing back and forth behind him, his outline still the only thing Papa could make out of his form. 

     “Perhaps.” Papa stalled for a moment. He was still holding the door open behind him, as though this were a place even he was not supposed to be. He felt as though he was intruding on something, though what it was he could not possibly put to words. The Ghoul tilted his head, standing perfectly still; waiting. “Can you tell me where the Bond Servant quarters are?” Papa said louder and stronger than he felt in that moment. The Ghoul tilted his head back and forth, his tail swished this way and that for a moment and he began to take small steps, walking in a small circle as he thought. 

     “Yes, I can tell you that, but it would be easier for me to go. Or to simply send another.” The Ghoul stopped walking in a circle and looked up directly at Papa: the dark pools of his eyes were closer now and Papa could see the slightest hint of something glowing there, behind his mask. Exactly like Omega’s always did in the darkness, just like the eyes of a cat. Papa narrowed his gaze at the Ghoul. 

     “I’m sure I can find it on my own, all I need is the right direction to head in.” A quick flash of a grin appeared. 

     “It is with all due respect, your Unholiness, but it may be best to send someone.” The Ghoul began to walk towards a box of errant papers, leaning over and peering in, as though he were checking on them. The grin on Papa’s face disappeared as he watched the Ghoul in front of him, realizing that this one was not like Omega at all. Papa turned briefly and looked over his shoulder, back towards the library behind him, finding himself thinking of how warm and safe it felt compared to this darkened alcove. Nevertheless, he drew in a sharp breath before he spoke, steeling himself.

     “As long as you can tell me where to look, I’m sure I can find it.” He stared at the Ghoul, his eyes locked onto the gently glowing orbs in the Ghouls mask. There was a tense silence between them for a moment as they stared at one another. Papa stood perfectly still, his face wore a stern, tight expression. The Ghoul stood tall and firm, his hands clasped behind his back, his tail quietly lashing this way and that behind him. Finally the Ghoul broke the silence with a sigh.

     “Very well, if you insist, your Unholiness,” he bowed his head slightly before stepping briskly away and digging into a pile of paperwork, “it will be easier to show you on a map.” The Ghoul picked up the parchment and gestured to Papa to follow him back to his desk. With shocking reluctancy, Papa hesitated in the doorway for a moment, before stepping away and allowing the door he’d been holding open to close behind him. He followed the Ghoul to the back of the room, the darkness now completely surrounding him. He passed by boxes and books and more papers and had this distinct feeling he’d been here before, but he couldn’t place when or how. As he walked up to the desk, the Ghoul had already laid the map down onto it and was using books on the corners to keep it flat against the wooden grain of the desk. 

     “We are here.” the Ghoul pointed to the archive on the map, it was incredibly small compared to the rest of the depiction. “You need to walk out of here and down into this older adjacent hallway. It is part of the original Church, as you know.” Papa nodded but said nothing and the Ghoul continued, “Follow this down to the end of the hall, there is an abandoned storeroom there. The door is shut and locked, but to your left is a spiral stone staircase, heading down into the lower levels.” Papa raised an eyebrow. 

     “Lower levels? As in, the catacombs?” He asked sharply. The Ghoul shook his head. 

     “No, no, your Unholiness. I apologize, I misspoke. Lower levels as in the basement to the original Church. It is very old and that basement was made by,” the Ghoul paused weighing his words carefully, “it was made by ancient hands, many, many, many years ago.” Papa nodded silently and stood back once more, waiting for the Ghoul to continue, “Walk down the stairs and into the lower levels, at the bottom of the stairs there is a narrow, tight passageway, it is, unfortunately, poorly lit. Please step with great care, as there are many divots and cracks in the walkway down there. It has fallen into poor maintenance for many years.” Papa shifted as he stared at the map on the desk. 

     “Why would they be living down there if its not maintained?” He asked, his voice was tight as he spoke. The Ghoul turned his head, staring directly at the other man.

     “It is with the utmost respect your Unholiness, but that is not a question for me to answer. That is a question for your Father.” His voice was plain and simple but there was a pressing urgency to it. Papa nodded, running his tongue over his teeth as he gestured for the Ghoul to continue. He filed the comment away for future reference. The Ghoul placed his hand back down onto the map, his index finger showing the way down the hallway. He pointed out where to turn left or right. He showed on the map how to get there precisely. 

     “Thank you,” Papa said as the Ghoul rolled the map up and handed it to him, “I could not have found this without your help.” He admitted quietly, a small smile of thanks on his features. The Ghoul bowed.

     “You are most welcome, your Unholiness.” He stood upright and straight backed once more. Papa began to walk away, but turned suddenly on one heel and pointed to the Ghoul. His finger bouncing in the air as he thought for a moment. 

     “This is probably not important right now, but I have to ask, have we met before?” The Ghoul tilted his head silently, but Papa went on, “What I mean is, I have this vague memory of having been in this room before, when I was a child. I know I’ve seen you before, you know around the grounds and the Church, but I feel like we’ve spoken before and I just can’t place my finger on _when_.” He stopped speaking abruptly, as though he just realized this may not be the time, nor the place for such a question. But the Ghoul nodded his head. 

     “Yes, in truth, we met many years ago. You were five years old. Your Mother brought you here, she wanted you to see the Codex.” He drew in a sharp, audible breath through his nose before continuing, “That said though, my younger brother Omega, speaks very highly of you, your Unholiness.” A soft laugh came from behind his mask and Papa gave a forced smile. He nodded firmly before speaking. 

     “Thank you, I’m glad to hear that he does and thank you very much for this information and for the directions. I appreciate it.” He began to turn away again and this time he did not stop. His footsteps echoing through the darkness of the archive to the old wooden door in the stone walls. As he opened the door, light came bounding into the darkened room, if for only a moment, and then was abruptly lost as the door slammed shut behind him. Alpha was left standing in the darkness. He stood still and quiet long after Papa’s footfalls had disappeared. His tail swished back and forth languidly as he turned and walked slowly back to his desk. 

     Though, he did not sit down quite yet, and instead turned towards the fireplace. He stared into its depths for a long moment, watching the way the flames bounced off of each other, dancing an ancient dance that he knew all the steps to. He leaned against the edge of his desk. He snapped his fingers and watched as the flames rose up to their full height in the fireplace: they burned brightly and licked the edges of the stone hearth with all their power and might. He snapped his fingers again and they burned higher still, the heat they gave off washed over him and around him, like a wave crashing on the craggy shores of some foreign land. He snapped his fingers again and the flames were burning red hot and caressing the fireplaces stone mantelpiece, curling around its edge and trying to consume the very rock that housed them. He watched them burn like that for several moments, watching as they almost scorched their way out of their stone prison. 

     The Ghoul sighed with a heavy sound and waved his hand at the fireplace as he stood up, the flames dissipating down, down, down, and then further still. Until they were simply a low burning blue flicker behind him when he sat back down in his chair. He rested his elbows on the desk, his hands folded in front of his face, the forehead of his gleaming silver mask pushed against his hands. He sat like that in silence for some time. The broken clock to his right sat reticent and still. Outside the moon was rising, though inside his cave that he’d made for himself, the Ghoul in the archive could not see it. He stared down in the dark at the top of his desk, his vision focused on the paperwork in front of him. The writing on it was in some incomprehensible language, but he knew it well: it was the tongue of the Old One. 

     “He didn’t even know my name,” the Ghoul said quietly to the sheet of paper in front of him, “he’s seen me a thousand times. I remember when he was young, him and his brother, the way they’d run around this archive and library like wild dogs. But he didn’t know my name. I could see it on his face.” The Ghoul whispered and the paper whispered back, though it did not speak in any language known to man. It rustled gently against the desk. The sounds it made were akin to the sound that the wind made when it flowed through leaves, or when someone’s breath hitches just at the right moment, or the sound of water dripping in undiscovered caves. The Ghoul smiled behind his mask, still staring at the paper on his desk, “If this is all a part of your plan, then so be it; by your will be done.” 

     He gathered the piece of parchment up, spun in his chair towards the fireplace and with a quick movement, he tossed it into the flames. The Ghoul sat in his chair and watched it burn. He contemplated whether this was indeed the right thing, if what Omega had said was correct and true. But as he watched the paper burn he began to chuckle to himself, leaning to the side in his chair. His laughter began to overtake him and he felt as though he were in on some cosmic joke, that he only now just got as he watched the flames burning a deep, dark emerald green. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make Chapters 26 and 27 one chapter, until I realized that'd be way, way too long. So Chapter 27 will be here by the end of the week. Thanks so much for your patience!


	27. Making Amends

_Sweden_

_June 12th, 1975_

_9:21 PM_

 

     Lena pulled shut the old wooden door behind her. Her hand lingered on the crystal knob for only a moment. She sighed, closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip for a moment. It was hard knowing she was leaving Ellinor to cry herself to sleep. Thoughts kept pushing into her mind, how she’d tried to warn Ellinor, tried to get her to look away or run. After all, Lena hadn’t wanted Ellinor to get burned. But it had been inevitable it seemed. Her hand fell away from the octagon shaped crystal door knob and she tucked her hands into the pockets of her habit. She turned away from the closed door and began to walk down the corridor, into the adjacent halls; heading to her night shift duties. 

     “Pardon me,” a stern voice sounded at the end of the hall and Lena looked up, her mouth falling open as the man in front of her continued, “would you be so kind as to fetch Bond Servant Ellinor for me? Or at the very least, tell me where I can find her.”  A slow smile appeared on his features, his hands in the pockets of his well tailored pants. Lena gulped, and out of nerves, licked her bottom lip. She opened and shut her mouth several times before bowing awkwardly. 

     “Your Unholiness,” she whispered reverently, bowing one too many times.  He held up a hand and took a step closer to her. 

     “Please, forgive me, but I did not come here for social pleasantries.” He lowered his hand back to his pocket, sighing as he did so, “Do you know where I can find Ellinor?” His voice was low but stern. Lena nodding mutely. Both of her hands flying up, “Yes, just,” she looked around frantically for a moment, “just wait here, please! Your Unholiness! Oh, I’m sorry! Just wait here, please, please.” Her words were hurried and hushed and she turned around and almost seemed to jog to the farthest door on the left. She turned the doorknob quickly and pushed herself inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it. She could feel her heart going a million miles a second. 

     “Ellinor!” She hissed tightly, trying to whisper but it was unsuccessful. Ellinor looked up from her tissues in her lap. Lena went over to her and wrapped her arms around her, “I’m so, so sorry. I,” she opened and shut her mouth once again, looking for words, “I was wrong, Ellinor! I was wrong! I’ve never been so glad to be wrong!” Ellinor’s brow furrowed deeply and she glared at the other woman, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. 

     “What are you talking about, Lena?” She croaked, sniffling, trying to beat back more tears by running her arms across her eyes. Lena clapped her hands together and bounced in her spot on the bed next to Ellinor. 

     “Ellinor, he’s out there!” Lena gestured behind her to the door, “He’s here. For _you_. He requested you!” She laughed, her hands grabbing onto Ellinor's. She bit her lip, pulling Ellinor to her feet. But Ellinor resisted, shaking her head; her eyes were downcast to the ground. She pulled her hands away and covered her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. 

     “What’s wrong? He’s here for you. I was wrong, Ellinor!” Lena said, her hands pressing flat to her chest, one over the other, “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Her voice was small. Ellinor shook her head. 

     “I’m not really sure what I wanted, Lena.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she stared at the stone floor. Lena shook her head. 

     “Well whatever you wanted, Ellinor. He’s out there in the hallway, waiting for you. He asked directly for you. So, if I go tell him you don’t want to see him, or that you’re not here,” She gave a dry sarcastic laugh as her words trailed off, “Not that he’d believe that last one, I don’t think.” She gave a tight smile. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Ellinor looking down at the floor and Lena standing before her with her own hands clasped. Ellinor sighed. 

     “I don’t know what I want to come of this. I don’t know what he really wants. What if he’s just here to formally fire me?” She looked up at Lena, her eyes watery and puffy from crying. She rubbed them once more with the back of her hand, sniffling quietly as she did so. Lena reached down to the foot of Ellinor’s bed and gathered up the other woman’s habit in her hands, offering it to Ellinor. 

     “You won’t know unless you go out there, Ellinor.” Her voice was resolute and she continued to hold the habit out, waiting. Ellinor’s vision danced between the habit in other woman’s hand and Lena’s face. She grimaced for a moment, turning to look at the corner of the box that peaked out from under her bed. She swallowed audibly, thinking of the notes she’d shared with him all that time, thinking of the book he’d given her and now, in front of her, was her habit: the one that had been made, specifically for her. Her vision bounced from the habit outstretched to her, to the box at her feet, and then once more around the room. Finally coming to rest on the mirror above the dilapidated sink: her pained reflection staring back at her. Ellinor sighed and nodded, taking the habit from Lena’s hands and with that, Lena gave her a tight nod of her head and turned to leave. 

     She exited the room quickly and quietly and pulled the door shut behind her tightly. She clasped her hands in front of her once more, now in the hallway. The lights above her flickered ominously and the man she had only seen from afar, and certainly had never spoken to, was leaning against the stone wall: waiting. His hands were still in his pockets and his vision was cast down to the smooth stone floor. Lena began to walk up to him but he didn’t stand up, he simply continued to lean against the wall, watching her come closer. 

     “Ellinor is on her way, your Unholiness.” Lena’s voice was a soft whisper as she bowed her head. Without looking back up at him, she rapidly rushed out the double doors at the end of the hallway; not bothering for a response. The sound of her shoes fading into the gloom echoed throughout the cavernous halls. He sighed, continuing to lean against the cold stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited. He hated waiting. Soon he stood up only to pace back and forth, like a tiger caught in a cage. He walked from one side of the hall to the other, back and forth, back and forth: waiting. Eventually, the door on the far left hand side of the hall creaked open and he stopped pacing back and forth. His hands still shoved in his pockets, but his vision locked onto Ellinor as she stepped out into the hallway. Her bottom lip clenched in her teeth like a vice. She shut the door behind herself and slowly pushed her hands into the pockets of her habit. 

     She looked up at him. He did not walk towards her. They simply stared at one another. The silence in the hallway seemed to drag out forever. Distantly, the sound of dripping water could be heard. Faintly the sounds of chatter was off in the distance, but Papa and Ellinor just stared at each other. Ellinor’s hands in her habit were sweaty, her face felt hot but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man in front of her. Finally, Papa sighed and jerked his head towards the double doors as he turned to leave. Ellinor walked quickly to keep up with him, following in his wake. 

     They passed out of the Bond Servants quarters and turned left down a long corridor. Abruptly, Papa stepped in a shallow puddle of water that had pooled on the floor. He made a disgusted noise as he shook his head and kept walking down the ever sloping hallway. Ellinor still in tow behind him, she dodged the puddle that he’d stepped in and continued to follow with her vision cast to the floor. The lights were still on in this area but seemed to be functioning at half capacity as the hallway opened up into a large, rectangular room. But there was nothing there of any consequence: no furniture, no people, nothing on the walls. It was only a large empty space with the same corridor entrance he’d come through on his way down, which was now opposite them. The only thing present was the lights and the exposed plumbing that ran along the ceiling. On his way down here, he’d noticed the age of the pipes, the way some of them had perspiration on their exterior. Now he walked slowly towards the corridor leading up to the stone spiral stairs, his shoes echoing throughout the stone room. Along the walls in some spots, were more puddles. Looking up, Papa noticed that one of the pipes had several small leaks in it. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he stared at it, his eyes narrowing. 

     He led Ellinor out of the empty rectangular room and back up the gently sloping corridor that she’d walked on her own a million times before. Her feet knew the way to the spiral stone stairs that the Ghoul in the archive had shown Papa. She had never walked up these stairs with him before though, and certainly had never expected to. The silence surrounding them was thick and heavy and Ellinor was sure, if she tried hard enough, she could reach out and touch it. Her footsteps gently echoed his as they continued to climb the stairs; her eyes locked on the smooth stone steps in front of her. They followed the spiral stone stairs up and up and up until they reached the main floor of the old Church, passing by the locked and abandoned old storeroom. It was late in the evening now, already 10:26 PM and there wasn’t another soul about as they walked out to the main hall. In the still darkness the huge library doors at the very far end of the hall seemed to loom ominously, the carvings on the wood casting shadows along the white marble floors. 

     Ellinor followed behind him for what seemed forever. Up staircases and down hallways, passed long used doors and still up more stairs and down other corridors and even passed the large stained glass windows that ordained the fourth floor. She knew they were simply heading back to his office, after all, she’d walked this path many times. As they walked down the hallway towards the door to his office, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and fitted them into the lock. The door swung open and he stepped inside, Ellinor following behind him, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. As he passed by the chaise lounge and the piano, this time not bothering to drag his fingers over the keys, he kept walking past the shelves and shelves of books and continued on past the mantelpiece with the clock on it. The fireplace burning away at a low flame. Ellinor glanced at his desk, seeing the disarray it was in, but the book she’d found earlier that evening was still there. She grimaced, feeling an uneasy tight knot in her stomach; regretting ever showing it to him, wishing she could go back in time and undo that discovery.

     She looked up to see him unlocking another door at the back of the room. This door was smaller and safely tucked away behind the last book shelf on the end. As he pulled the key free from the lock, the door swung backwards and gently tapped against the wall behind it. He stood back and gestured with his right arm for her to go in before him. She looked from him to the darkened corridor that the door had opened up onto. Her hands wringing together. 

     “Nothing bad is going to happen, I assure you.” He said quietly, his voice was low. Ellinor bit her lip, her eyes darting from him to the door only once more before she finally stepped inside. Papa followed behind her, shutting the door quietly. He fumbled on the wall for a moment before flipping on a switch, the electricity crackled to life and the light illuminating beautiful hardwood floors, “This way.” He said as he walked off down the hallway. They passed a large darkened room that was lined with windows, Ellinor could tell it was a bedroom: the shadows from the moon outlined a large four poster bed. She looked away and continued to follow Papa down the hall to a large open room. There was a fireplace burning away. The room had no windows, as it was set back into the stone confines of the building. But there were two dark green, leather wing chairs, one of which Papa gestured for her to sit down in. She did so reluctantly, her feet crossing at her ankles, her eyes fixed on the fireplace in front of her. Papa sat down in the chair next to her, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. They sat in silence for a long moment. The fire in front of them crackled gently. 

     “I was a bit too harsh earlier.” His voice broke the stillness of the room. Ellinor stiffened up as he continued, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” His words trailed off into the dark and the room fell silent once again. Ellinor looked down at her hands in her lap. She drew in a shaky breath. 

     “I didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious.” Her voice was small. She continued to look down at her hands, feeling that familiar heat creeping up her neck and to her cheeks. That horrible tight feeling in her throat coming back. He sighed, pulling his gloves off, one finger at a time. She looked over at him out of the corner of her vision. Watching the way he laid the black leather gloves down onto the side table next to his chair. He leaned back in his chair, letting go of whatever breath he’d been holding. 

     “You weren’t prying.” His words were to the point and sharp, “You were asking a normal question and I should have answered in a normal way. I did not, for the record, answer in a normal way, or at all.” The fire place continued to crackle and pop. He began to rummage around in his jacket pocket, pulling out the photograph from earlier, “Yes, the woman in the photograph was my Mother.” He handed the photo to Ellinor, holding it out to her, like some kind of peace offering. She tentatively took it from him. “Her name was Fia.” He said, staring into the fireplace. His face was blank. Ellinor gazed down at the photo in her hands. She couldn’t help but smile at it. He turned and looked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What is it?” He asked, a smirk beginning to cross his features. Ellinor huffed out a laugh. 

     “It’s just that, well, you have hair.” She tried to suppress the smile, her eyes skittering between the photo and the man seated next to her.  He looked down for a moment, a tight smile across his face. 

     “Yes, I had hair for many years.” He looked back up at her. The fireplace in front of him crackled pleasantly. Ellinor uncrossed her ankles, only to cross them back the other way. She kept looking at the picture, a small smile on her face. 

     “Well, you certainly were never someone I ever expected to go bald. Not with how thick your brother's hair is.” She spoke softly, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. Papa leaned back in his chair, the glow from the fire casting out across him. 

     “No, I never went bald. I cut it all off. If I let it come back,” he shrugged, indifferent, “it absolutely would.” He interlaced his fingers and rested them over his stomach. They both sat in silence for some time. Ellinor continued to look down at the photo. She drew in a soft breath before she spoke. 

     “Is this the only photo you have?” She asked. Papa did not move from his position but he nodded slowly.

     “Yes, I was about three in that photo,” he gestured to it with his left hand, “she left when I was probably about six.” He sighed. Ellinor nodded silently, pressing her lips together as she continued to stare at it. Her eyes began to take on a wet sheen and she blinked rapidly several times before sucking in a deep breath. 

     “I don’t have any photos of my parents.” She turned her head and stared at him, handing the photo back to him. He took it from her gently, laying it on the table between them. 

     “For the record, this is the only one I have of her.” He said quietly, his eyes locking with hers. 

     “But you have your Father. You can go see him now, if you wish.” There was no malice or sarcasm in her voice. She gave a gentle smile, like she always did. The one he’d noticed her giving him all those months ago when he gave her that first book to borrow and read. It was the same genuine smile. He smiled back at her, but he knew his own wasn’t genuine: it was a forced smile. He leaned on the armrest of his chair, so he was closer to her. 

     “I could, yes, I could go and see him. But we aren’t,” Papa tilted his head back and forth, a grimace appearing on his face, “we aren’t very close. My Mother and I were very close and when she left, well, that changed everything forever.” He gave a small shrug and leaned back in his chair again, this time tilted slightly to the right, keeping eye contact with Ellinor. She sat silently, her ankles still crossed, her hands now folded in her lap. She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the hardwood floors; watching the way the flames of the fire cast shadows on both her and Papa. 

     “So you don’t really have anyone either?” She said her voice barely above a whisper. 

     “Correct.” Papa said firmly, his vision locked on her. She licked her lips, opening and closing her mouth as she searched for words. She started to speak but stopped several times. Finally, she sighed, her hands flying up to her face where she pressed her fingers against her eyes. 

     “I’m sorry! When I said what I said earlier, I didn’t know. I was just,” her hands fell back to her lap, her eyes now glossy with tears, “I was just really hurt that you’d react that way, I guess. Towards _me_.” She whispered that last part through clenched teeth, sniffling and trying desperately to keep herself together, “I mean, I’m just your assistant, but it felt like-” she paused for a moment, looking around the room, wondering for a brief instance if she should continue, “it felt like maybe I meant more. To someone. Finally. So that’s why I said what I said. I apologize.” Her words were very small and tight as they crawled their way out of her throat. She folded her hands back into her lap, looking away at the fire; she blinked several times, attempting to keep the tears at bay. He watched her for a moment, the way her hands were starting to shake and her teeth worried at her bottom lip. He stood up, readjusting his jacket and held his hand out to her,  “Come.” He said tersely. 

     She hesitated for a moment but eventually slid her hand into his. As she stood up, he began to walk off down the hallway they had come down. She was more being dragged along then willingly walking. But she couldn’t stop herself from noticing how warm his hand was and couldn’t stop herself from gripping just a little too tightly. He stopped at the arched doorway of the room they’d passed on the way in. He reached just inside and hit the switch on the wall. With a soft pop, the room lit up with two bedside table lamps. He pulled her into the room and turned to face her, still holding her hand in his. Being so close to him, she realized in that moment that he wasn’t as tall as she had once thought he was. A small smile crept across her features at that. He gestured to the room with his left hand, still holding her hand with his right. 

     “This is my room, but it is yours for however long you deem fit or appropriate. I will sleep in my office.” She began to protest but he stopped her, “No, you have apologized for what you said, but there was no need for your apology. I was the one in the wrong. Forgive me.” He bent down only slightly, but pulled her hand up to his lips and quickly kissed the back of her hand. He bowed his head to her and allowed her hand to fall from his grasp. Ellinor pulled her hands back into the pockets of her habit; her eyes lingering on him as she spoke. 

     “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have to do this. I can just go back down to-” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

     “Go back down to that dungeon you were living in? I think not.” He turned around as he spoke and began walking towards the heavy emerald green colored curtains, closing them with practiced ease; the silver tassels swinging off the ends with the motion. “Besides, this is the least I can do.” He turned back around to face her, clasping his hands together as he walked back across the room to stand in front of her once more. He locked his gaze with hers once more and sighed, “You’re not as alone as you think you are, Ellinor.” He gave her a small smile and began to walk towards the door. She turned around and watched him walk out into the hallway, his hand on the doorknob. He looked off down the hall, his tongue running over his teeth as he thought. He spoke to her over his shoulder, his words were constricted and rushed, “By the way, when we're in my quarters you may dispense with the titles and pleasantries: my name is Vittorio.” He gave her a curt bow, and before she could respond, he shut the door. 

     Ellinor listened as his footsteps faded down the hallway and the door to his office opened and shut quickly, the _thud_ from it closing resonated for only a moment. She stood in the room, perfectly still for several minutes. Finally, she huffed out a soft laugh, hot tears springing freely to her eyes. She rubbed them away with the ball of her hand. She smiled through them though as she walked over to the bed. She stood in front of it for a moment and smoothed out the beautiful, dark green fabric with her hand. It was so soft. She couldn't resist and she turned around and sat on the edge of the bed, hoping up onto it, her legs dangling. She couldn't believe it: it was the most comfortable thing she'd ever sat on. Eventually she relaxed enough to lay backwards on it, letting it cradle her. She could smell how clean the blankets were. There was another smell too though, she knew this smell, it was him.  _This is what he smells like_ , she thought to herself, burying her nose briefly in the blanket, sighing. Her fingers flexed and gripped the the blanket tightly.  

     “Vittorio.” She whispered reverently. She smiled, her eyes still closed, still not sure that this was all happening. That she was being allowed to sleep here, in this room, in these quarters: _his quarters._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this was so long. I apologize that this took so long to put out. Thank you for reading through 4k words. I appreciate you.


	28. Overdue

_Sweden_

_June 13th, 1975_

_11:19 AM_

 

     The bedroom door closed shut with a soft _clink_ behind him. He couldn’t help the small smile that rested on his features; seeing her there in his bed, safe and warm, seemed to cause some dark spot in him to clear away. His shoes tapped down onto the wooden floors gently as he walked from his own room, where Ellinor continued to sleep undisturbed, and to the door to his main office. He opened and shut the door as carefully and quietly as he could. He let the door gently shut behind him, the lock _clicking_ delicately into place in its latch. The early mellow afternoon sunlight filtered into the office through the large windows, which faced the east. The sun gently laid soft warm sunbeams all across the room in a cascade of light. Some of the sunlight catching in the glass just so, enough to cast small, faint rainbows on the beautiful hardwood floors. 

     Papa sat down at his desk, his chair squeaking under him as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves; rolling them up so that they sat just below his elbows. He cast a glance around his desk. He noticed that the coffee pot, which had been brought up earlier by an ancillary servant, was now empty, its gentle rolling steam was gone. He sighed, picking up his desk phone and connecting to the kitchens. He quietly requested that a new one be brought up in an hour. The person on the other end of the line did not argue. They simply nodded; saying ‘yes, sir’ reverently, complying willingly and totally, and readied the order. He hung up the phone with a decisively heavy handed _clunk_. Only to look down at the top of his desk and stare at the paperwork before him: all of Ellinor’s file was spread out on his desk. Some notes that the Overseer of the Archive had found, one demerit she had received as an Uninitiated for being late to Mass, the contract her Father had signed all those years ago, effectively selling her to the Church. Everything was there except the actual contract that Ellinor herself had signed, sealing her own fate, perhaps unknowingly. That particular document was sealed away safely under lock and key in the bottom drawer. He had not spoken to anyone about it, save for Omega who, surely, would never reveal that information to anyone of any importance. 

     The paperwork was neatly spread out, so each piece was visible and the notes that he’d gotten from Omega and others were on top. He stared at those notes for some time, steepling his hands together in front of him as he thought. He could hear the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away peacefully. When he turned to look at it he sighed, the hands were wrong, again, “Damn thing never keeps the right time.” He muttered to himself as he checked his watch. He knew the time was precise and the same and he reached for the phone on his desk. His grip on the receiver was tight. On the other end an operator picked up, “This is his Unholiness the Second, I need you to connect me to the Church branch in Zurich.” He quietly waited, glancing between his desk top and the clock on the mantelpiece. Unconsciously, he began to twirl the phone line around his index finger; he stared at the broken clock on the mantelpiece, but nevertheless, he waited patiently. 

 

_12:36 PM_

 

     Ellinor opened her eyes very slowly and languidly; squinting at the room around her. The sun shining in from the open curtains was bright in the sky. A slow, lazy smile spread across her face. She was warm and comfortable under all those heavy blankets and the pillow under her head was the softest thing she’d ever laid on. Opening her eyes further, she yawned and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. She furrowed her brow, beginning to sit up, pushing the covers off of her with speed and concern at having slept in far, far too late. Her bare feet landed on a very soft oriental rug, covered in dark green scrolls with silver linings. She stared at it for far too long before looking up to try and find her habit from the night before. But as she scanned the room, she noticed a small piece of white paper by the clock on the bedside table. Picking it up she read it; smiling to herself, as she recognized the finest handwriting she’d ever seen, _You are excused from your duties for the day._

     She couldn’t help the blush that crept into her cheeks. She rubbed at her left cheek absently, trying to make the flush go away. She placed the note back down on the nightstand. Sighing, she walked over to the large window, squinting at the bright light filtering in through the old warbled glass. Below her she had an incredible view of the gardens and grounds; she could see people walking here and there in the summer afternoon sun. Far out, just beyond the main garden, was the large hedge maze. She’d never been in it but from this height it was a marvel to behold. At the center of it was what appeared to be a stone sculpture; though, of what, it was too far to truly make out. Finally, she turned away from the window and back to the room she’d slept in the night before. As she looked around she realized it was a lot smaller than she had ever imagined his personal quarters would be. Naturally, there was a fireplace at one end and the bed was at the other. The walls were lined with bookshelves on one side: each shelf was covered in books and collectibles of various years and interests, several hour glasses were nestled in between rows of antique, leather bound tomes. 

     The curtains were pulled back, _curious_ , she thought. As she remembered him closing them the night before. Suddenly realizing that when he left the note, he must have opened them. She ran a nervous hand up the back of her neck and into her loosely hanging dark red hair, her fingers digging in slowly. Eventually, she shook her hair out through her fingers, almost brushing it, but not quite. As she slipped out of the plain t-shirt she’d found in a bureau, which was pushed up under the window sill, she went to pick up her habit. It lay carefully and neatly across a dark green leather chair in the corner, which had obviously only been sat in rarely. The edges of it were still in perfectly good condition and the buttons weren’t even strained at all. She smiled to herself; thinking of how the same identical chair in Papa’s study was worn in every way: on all the edges it appeared as though someone had taken sandpaper to it, the buttons were strained on the back and even the leather armrests had lost their original dark green color and were now pale in comparison to any other part of the chair. But this one here, in front of this smaller fireplace, which in and of itself was extremely clean and well maintained, this chair was almost untouched. 

     Ellinor put on her habit: sliding into it and buttoning up the side carefully. She smoothed it out gently, trying to get whatever wrinkles there may have been out of it. She looked down at her shoes, sitting under the green chair neatly where she’d left them. Biting her lip, she debated, but years and years of ingrained training forced her to put them on. Dressed as well as she could have been, though her hair down and not brushed, she headed for the door. The crystal knob turned with tight accuracy and the latch popped open, the door's weight pulling itself into the hallway. She shut it quickly behind her by leaning on it, making sure the latch caught. She stared at the other door in front of her, across the hall. She could hear him clearing his throat in his office. The sounds of paperwork rustling could be heard. She licked her bottom lip as she reached up to tuck an errant piece of hair behind her right ear, her left hand resting on the doorknob to his office. She let out the breath she’d been holding and turned the knob.

     The door opened into his office, the one room she knew very well. It was somehow comforting to see it again; like visiting with an old friend. As she closed the door behind her she noticed that there was a second chair next to his. He did not speak as she entered the room, nor did he look up at her, but pulled the chair next to him away from the desk and patted the leather seat inaudibly. She hesitated for just a moment before walking quickly over to the chair and sitting down. Sitting close to him, in his office, she was suddenly acutely aware of how tangled her hair was and ran her right hand through it, trying to push it back. 

     “Did you sleep well?” He asked, his voice was clear. 

     “Yes, thank you.” She licked her bottom lip as the words simply fell from her mouth, “But you didn’t have to let me-” He cut her off with a firm wave of his hand, his vision still cast down to the paperwork on his desk. 

     “Yes, I did, and besides, now it is done. I’m glad to hear you slept well, you did sleep a long time. But you probably needed it.” He turned his head finally and looked at her, raising his right eyebrow as she nodded her agreement, “Let’s move on, shall we?” He began to move the papers around on his desk. Licking his thumb quickly, absentmindedly, filing through this pile and then that. She watched closely. Some of the papers were discolored, some were torn and taped back together, and a notepad, sitting just above all the paperwork. It had Papa’s handwriting all over it, though it was in cursive and impossible to read from the distance at which she sat. 

     “I have been doing some digging.” His voice was even and low as he handed her a piece of old, yellowed parchment. She stared at it, unsure of what she was looking at. The title was written in longhand calligraphy. It kept trying to roll itself back up, as though it had been in the form of a scroll for many, many years and now yearned to conform to that shape. She held the end down on her lap, tilting her head as she read. She covered her mouth with her right hand, her eyes began to gloss over as she read the name at the bottom in the smallest, most warbled print: Stieg Holm. She looked up at the man sitting next to her. He swiveled in his chair to face her, his hands perched on the arm rests of the leather. He watched her closely, unblinking. She cleared her throat. 

     “What is this?” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. 

     “It says at the top what it is.” He said factually, beginning to rock in his chair. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together tightly, shaking her head just so. 

     “No, I mean,” she gripped the document on both sides, firmly shaking it for a moment, “why are you showing me this? Where did you get this? How did you find this?” The words simply fell from her mouth, but not as quickly as the tears from her eyes; hot tears that simply slipped from the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He reached for a box of tissues and placed them next to her on the desk. She sniffled, chuckling under her breath as she took one, “I take it you anticipated this reaction?” He smiled gently, rapping his knuckles against the hardwood of the desk. 

     “You could call it that.” He sat back up, his chair squealing as he did so, “As to your other questions, though it was actually the Overseer of the Archive who found this particular document. I thought you might like to have it, seeing as it is yours, after all.” Ellinor sniffled once more, this time smiling as she wiped her tears away. 

     “Thank you, I hadn't forgotten his name, but it’s nice to have a piece of him.” She said, looking down at the signature at the bottom of the document. Papa nodded, turning back to his desk and picking up the notepad with his own handwriting on it. 

     “Well, I have some other information for you, when you’re ready.” Ellinor looked up, her lips parted as her mouth fell slightly open. She nodded numbly as she gripped the document in her hands. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands holding onto the notepad he’d selected. 

     “Do you have any memories of a woman known as Sister Marta Ankar?” Ellinor shook her head and he continued, “Well, she had a lot of memories of you.” He smiled, “She was the Sister who took you in that fateful January night when your Father brought you to our doorstep. I spoke to her on the phone this morning, as chance would have it. She was relocated to a branch of the Church in Switzerland, about five years after you were taken in.” Ellinor sat and watched Papa speak. She simply sat and listened as Papa flipped the notepad paper over, “She was the one who told me she’d kept some tabs on your Father, after he left here. Left you here. She informed me that your Father was found dead by local authorities not long after he’d,” Papa paused for a moment, “given you over into the Churches care.” A soft, sad smile that Papa had never seen before, graced Ellinor’s features. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

     “I’m not surprised, really.” She sniffled and took another tissue, pressing it to her nose before continuing, “My only memories of him are vague, but he had troubles. He was an addict. Couldn’t hold down a job. I remember the way people would come to his apartment, late at night, they wanted money. He didn’t have it. They’d rough him up.” She shook her head, no tears came though. “I would ask him the next morning what had happened to him and he’d always tell me, ‘Don’t worry about me, älskade, eat your food’ and I knew he was in trouble. But I didn’t know what to do or who to tell.” She paused, her hand over her heart for a moment. 

     “There wasn’t anything you could have done, cara. His life choices were his own.” Papa’s voice was reassuring, factful and completely calm and Ellinor found herself nodding and agreeing with him. She took another tissue and she knew he was right. 

     “Sister Marta also informed me that your Father did have the best intentions when he left you here. He did it to protect you, he’d said.” Papa wasn’t really looking at the notepad in front of him anymore. Ellinor nodded.

     “Yes, the night he brought me here, he told me as we were leaving,” she drew in a deep breath as she spoke, “ he said, ‘Ellinor, we’re going to visit a friend of mine tonight and you’re going to meet some new kids, maybe you’ll make new friends, yeah?’ and I remember the look on his face. He was smiling but he was in incredible pain. It was in his eyes. I remember thinking something was wrong.” She grimaced for a moment, looking at the floor before continuing, “I should feel sad or depressed or maybe I should be crying for him, but I can’t cry for him anymore. It’s been so long and I only have these fleeting images of him. These scenes in my head that I can’t tell if they’re parts of movies or my own life.” She fell silent for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; her tongue running along the sharp edges of her teeth. Her hands clung tightly to the document she was holding, her knuckles almost white with unconscious amounts of strain. Papa nodded silently and placed the notepad down onto his desk. They both sat in a tense silence for several minutes. 

     “But,” Ellinor said quietly, “why did you do all this? Why did you call that woman?” She watched him closely as she spoke, her eyes were locked on his face. He leaned back in his chair, shrugging as he did so. 

     “You had once said that you didn’t really remember your parents and that you were alone.” He gestured to the notepad and the paperwork she held tightly in her lap, “There is more information on your parents, Sister Marta was very forthcoming about your Father and your Mother. She knew them both before joining this Church, it would seem. I have it all written down here.” He placed his hand briefly on the notepad. “But,” he paused, swallowing audibly and blinking rapidly for a moment before speaking, “you are not alone. You are not anymore alone than I am. Or my brothers. Or,” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, his voice softening as he spoke, “anyone really. I suppose what I mean is, I’ve been alone, cara, for a long time. But with you I don’t feel very alone anymore.” He rapped his knuckles lightly on his wooden desk once more; this time it was his turn to look down at the floor. Ellinor couldn’t help the soft smile creeping across her features. She finally relinquished her hold on the document she’d been hoarding in her lap and laid it on the desk. She leaned forward in her chair, her hands still folded in her lap as she spoke; her long soft, disheveled red hair falling forward with her. 

     “You know, someone once told me that when you look down, it can be misinterpreted as being rude.” He looked up at her quickly, a smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow. 

     “Is that so, cara?” His voice held that same sarcastic tone it always had. She could feel that same blush returning to her cheeks. He sat up straighter in his chair, knitting his fingers together as he spoke, looking at her in that same haughty gaze he always held at Rituals. Though this time, she was unafraid and unmoved and she simply smiled from ear to ear, biting her bottom lip. 

     “I’m sure whoever told you that was very wise. As that’s very insightful.” A smirk appeared on his face. 

     “Oh yes, he’s very insightful! And very smart and interesting. Always has a lot of valuable things to share.” She said in a hushed tone. He watched her for a moment before shifting in his seat. 

     “All flattery aside, I do want you to know how difficult it was finding all of this paperwork about you.” He said bluntly, leaning his chin into his hand, his elbow resting on his desk. 

     “I figured the Church would keep records of these things. Were they not in the archive with the others?” She asked, her brow furrowed. He shook his head. 

     “Well, some were, some were not. As Sister Marta had informed me, when your Father left you in the care of the Church, there was a concern that someone else may come looking for you.” He drew in a breath but before he could finish Ellinor cut him off. 

     “My Mother.” She said tersely. Her teeth automatically dug into her bottom lip as she spoke, her eyes downcast. He nodded silently. 

     “Sister Marta had acted on her own,” he tilted his head this way and that before he spoke, choosing his words carefully, “she made it very clear to me that she was concerned for your safety and so some documents proving your existence were destroyed.” He watched her for a moment, squinting at her, waiting for a reaction. But Ellinor simply shrugged her shoulders. 

     “Well, this woman obviously knew both my parents, you said so before. She must have known my Mother was a threat.” Ellinor drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. She pressed her lips together tightly, they went from a soft pink to almost deathly pale white in an instant. 

     “Was your Mother a real and dangerous threat?” He asked quietly, leaning back in his chair once again, pushing off of the hardwood floors with the balls of his feet. The chair squealed in protest. The room fell into a tight silence. Ellinor opened her mouth several times to say something, but the words simply died on her tongue. She began to pick nervously at her own fingers. Papa watched her. His eyes flicking from her face to her hands, until finally, he reached forward and laid his hand on hers. 

     “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She looked up at him and they each others gaze for several seconds. 

     “It’s just hard to answer.” She paused for a moment before drawing in a breath and closing her eyes momentarily, “I have this blurry memory of her. Her and my Father were arguing about why I was so thin. She kept saying how she couldn’t afford to feed both of us.” Ellinor shook her head as she spoke, “My Father kept saying then she should give her food to me. But my Mother just laughed, this low haughty laughter. There’s this deep, weird dark spot,” she placed her hand over her heart as she spoke, “like she never wanted me in the first place and that's why she just left me at my Father’s, and never came back.” Papa nodded silently as Ellinor spoke. Finally, he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing together in front of his face.

     “For the purposes of full disclosure, my Father never really wanted my brothers and I.” He rolled his eyes and gave a bitter, short laugh, “Let me rephrase that: he never wanted to raise us or know us as people. He wanted us, yes!” He leaned back in his chair once more as he spoke, tilting his head back to look up at the exposed beamed ceiling, “He wanted us for his bloodline and his purposes and his little game, whatever you want to call it. But he certainly never raised us and he certainly doesn’t know who we are, nor does he care, for the record.” He sighed, knitting his fingers together over his stomach, resting his hands there. Ellinor nodded her understanding.

     The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away, albeit inaccurately, and the silence that fell in the room was comfortable and, somehow, warm. It did not wish to be disturbed though. Ellinor sat quietly, her eyes scanning the documents on the desk idly. Her hands kept clenching and unclenching and she found herself never wanting to see all that paperwork again. She wanted it all thrown in a furnace, to be destroyed as though it had never ever existed. 

     “Do you think,” she began to say, her hands reaching out to the documents on the desk, only to be balled up into fists, “do you think we could throw all this away? Would anyone object? Would anyone notice?” He raised an eyebrow at her, swiveling in his chair for a moment, his eyes cast upwards towards the ceiling once more. 

     “Why?” He asked plainly. She drew in a shaky breath; her hands fluttering around her face as hot tears began to spring into her eyes.

     “I just don’t want anyone to know. I just want to live my life now. As it is. Not with,” she gestured to the paperwork with her hands outstretched; desperate, anxious, “not with all this mess and obscurity.” She fell silent, her hands falling into her lap. 

     “Are you sure?” He said quietly, still not moving from his position. She nodded.

     “I’m positive.” Her voice was resolute and firm as though she’d already resigned herself to this years ago, “I know my Father did what he did to protect me. But my Mother can’t hurt me anymore, if she’s even still alive. But that’s neither here nor there. She didn’t care about me then and I certainly don’t care about her now.” Ellinor nodded tightly, folding her hands in her lap once again. Papa began to stand up from his seat, gathering the paperwork in his hands and making a perfect pile. He tapped it all together against the desk. He reached out to her, nodding to the document still in her lap; the contract of sale. She looked down at it. Her fingers lightly touched the signature of her Father, but after a few shaky breaths she handed it to the man in front of her. He allowed it to fold up onto itself, curling up into the original scroll form it had been found in. Ellinor watched him closely, gripping the edges of her chair as he walked over to the fireplace. He stood in front of it for a moment, turning around and making eye contact with her. He raised an eyebrow once more, tiling his head ever so slightly. 

     “Are you sure, cara?” He said. Ellinor nodded.

     “Yes.” This time her voice was firm. He nodded to her once more and threw the whole pile of paper into the fireplace. The flames licked at the edges, consuming the old, yellowed papers quickly. The notepad was the last piece to go, being the thickest and newest, but soon, that too was reduced to ash. Papa grabbed the fire poker and pushed the ash around the hearth, then grabbed another log and threw it on top. The sparks flew and hissed at the invader. But he pushed the log back into the flames with the poker, before leaning the poker back against the mantelpiece once more. He stood over the flames and stared into them. Eventually Ellinor walked over to him, her hands clasped behind her back. 

     “Thank you,” she whispered, “you didn’t have to do all this and thank you for letting me be rid of it.” She gave him a weak smile, but looked at the floor; warm trails of tears running freely down her face. She wiped them away with the cuff of her sleeve. He tutted at her, pulling her hand away from her face with his while simultaneously pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket with his other. He handed the cloth to her and she huffed out a soft laugh, pressing the cloth to her eyes. When she pulled it away, she looked at it; the embroidery on it said VE. She ran her thumb over the letters, a warm smile on her face. 

     “VE. Vittorio Emeritus.” She said quietly, almost instinctively. The flames continued to burn in the fireplace in front of them, dancing around the log he’d just placed in there; portions of it becoming hot embers that were beginning to flake and fall away with the heat. Underneath of the log was the ashes of her past life. He sighed through his nose, his hands in his pockets as he turned to her. They were very close as he looked down at her and she looked up at him. Ellinor held onto his handkerchief; a smile still plastered on her face, her eyes still watery from her tears. In one smooth movement he reached up and took her hands in his; rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs. 

     “EH. Ellinor Holm.” He said, his voice now barely a whisper above the crackling of the flames that continued to dance and flicker in the fading afternoon sun. Ellinor smiled as she leaned against him, her forehead on his chest. He let go of her hands and she gripped his white button down shirt tightly with her fingers; now pressing her face against him. Her eyes were screwed shut as she prayed to whatever would listen for this to never end. She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled deeply, wrapping his arms around her tightly, holding her against him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and they stood like that for a long time. 

     A long, overdue time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to be on a SMALL hiatus while I work on another project for the Halloween season. DO NOT WORRY. I will be picking this back up, with a bang, right where I left off in November. If the winds hold true, hopefully on November 1st. Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for waiting and I hope you enjoy the side project! 
> 
> <3 Rubrikate


	29. Subtraction and Addition

_Sweden_

_June 26th, 1975_

_8:14 PM_

 

     The Ritual had gone well enough. There had been some new people who had chosen to join them, and some of the Uninitiated had decided to stay within their conclave.  Papa had, of course, welcomed them with open arms and a smile, but he would be lying if he said he’d been wholly focused on them. As he spoke, his vision kept shifting from the people demanding his attention to the woman standing in the shadows at the back of the large hall. Ellinor insisted on staying back where she had always stood—back by the pillars that held up the second story seating. It was dark back there, and the only other ones who stood with her in the shadows were the Ghouls. 

     The Uninitiated sat in the front row; their faces were all smiles and eager eyes. Papa had given them stern nods and flashed a small smile to some, but it was a facade. It hadn’t taken him long to leave the Ritual and to return to his quarters. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been expecting Ellinor to be there waiting for him, but she was nowhere to be found. He sighed as he entered his private chambers via the door in his office and set about disrobing. He removed everything but his ornate Emeritus robes as he walked to the bathroom. He flicked a switch on the wall, and the room was flooded with light. He squinted at the bathroom mirror, which covered the whole wall over top of the sink. He stared at himself for a moment, noticing the lines in his face that didn’t seem to be there before. He chuckled to himself. _Another year older._  

     He turned on the sink, the water becoming hot within a few minutes and the steam rising to fog the mirror above it. He wiped the steam off of the glass and opened a drawer to his left, pulling out a rag. He tossed it into the sink and let it soak for a minute or two—a trick he’d learned from Aldo all those years ago when Aldo was Papa and had to remove his own Skull paint while Vittorio watched in awe from the edge of the tub. He turned around and faced the mirror, looming over the quickly filling sink, watching the rag float around in the hot water. He reached for the bar of soap and threw it into the sink, sloshing it around with the rag, creating a foamy mess as he turned off the faucet. The room was humid, and the mirror was fogged up again. He cursed under his breath in annoyance and wiped the fog away from the mirror once more. Just as he dipped his hands into the hot water, he heard the distinct sound of the door to his private quarters clicking open. He pulled his hands from the foamy mess and shook them dry, grabbing a hanging towel quickly on his way to pushing the bathroom door open. As the locked popped and the door swung open into the hallway, the fog and humidity from the room roiled out into the hall and covered the hardwood floors for the briefest of moments. 

     “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude!” Ellinor stood with her hand resting on the door handle as she began to retreat back into the office, her left hand held palm up. Papa allowed a rare smile to run across his features. 

     “You’re not intruding, Ellinor. Come.” He gestured for her to follow him. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip, looking over her shoulder at the safety of the office behind her. Being allowed into his Unholiness’s private quarters was still a bit of a terrifying prospect and something that still, in the back of her mind, she felt that she should reject and run away from. But the way he turned and looked at her from over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised, told her that this was not an invitation, but rather, a command. 

     She shut the door behind her with a soft _clink_ and walked inside the dark hallway, the only light pouring out from the bathroom. Papa stood in front of the sink, turning the faucet back on, causing the roiling steam to rise once more to the mirror over top of it. Ellinor stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, watching quietly. He did not turn to her, but instead, looked at her in the mirror. She was looking at the floor. 

     “Did you enjoy the Ritual? I noticed that you were standing at the far back, as you usually do for some odd reason.” His words were soft, but they carried above the sound of running water. Ellinor readjusted her hands in front of her. 

     “I did enjoy the Ritual. I was just watching from where I usually stand. It's easier that way.” She cleared her throat, looking down at the floor once more. Papa nodded as he swirled the rag around in the sink, turning the running water off. 

     “And why is it easier?” he asked quietly as he rolled up his sleeves, this time turning his head to look at her. She opened and shut her mouth once and then twice. 

     “It’s,” she sighed, “it’s difficult to explain. It’s hard to find seating when you’re the last one allowed into the room with people who don’t want you there.” She spoke that last part in almost a whisper, her eyes locked onto his in the mirror. He was leaning with his palms pressed against the counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stared at her for a moment before speaking. 

     “I take it that squeezing in and forcing yourself amongst others who, as I have heard, do not want you to sit next to them is not ideal.” The room fell into a strange silence, and all Ellinor could do was nod. Papa nodded as well, looking down into the soapy water in front of him. He sloshed at it idly with his left hand. “You know, as my assistant you have the authority to come in behind me. Which means, in theory, you could sit right in the front row.” He looked up at her, locking eyes with her in the mirror. She smiled, her cheeks flushed pink as she looked back down at the floor. 

     “But wouldn't that be an abuse of my position?” she asked, her voice taking on a dry and sarcastic tone. Papa chuckled, a sound like dark tinted glass emitting from his chest. 

     “I don't think it would be, it’s simply your right to do so, as you are my personal assistant. But,” he held his hands up as he finally turned around to her, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, “it is entirely up to you. If you do not wish to take advantage of this, shall we say _perk_ , then that is your decision.” Ellinor couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features. 

     “Thank you, Papa. I’ll think about it.” She suppressed the smile on her face just enough, but her eyes betrayed her, locking onto his. He raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

     “Speaking of being my assistant, give me your honest opinion: how do you like my melting skull paint? Is it too much?” He held his hands out and gestured to his face where the paint had begun to melt away from the humidity in the room. Ellinor smiled a broad, warm smile, tucking her hands into the pockets of her habit. 

     “It is,” she paused, “not as becoming as it was earlier, if I am being honest.” She nodded her head towards the sink filled with soapy hot water. “Anyways, I should let you get back to what you were doing. I’m sorry for interrupting you.” She bowed her head just so and turned on her heel, beginning to walk away. 

     “Ellinor,” as he spoke she turned back around and faced him, “why did you come in here? Why are you leaving? I told you that you were free to stay here as long as you like. I meant it, you know.” She turned several shades of red, and he could see her clenching her hands in her pockets. She bit her bottom lip before she spoke. 

     “I came in to thank you for your offer and to thank you for everything you’ve done. I figured I would go back to my own quarters and get out of your way.” She licked her lips, her eyes quickly skittering to the floor. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. 

     “You’ve been staying here for over a week. I figured it was clear that you were welcome to stay as long as you like, but if this is as long as you like, then…” He let his words drift off. She drew in a sharp breath. 

     “I would like to stay, but I am unsure of,” she paused, looking around the palatial bathroom, searching for words, “unsure of what happens now and, frankly, I feel bad making you sleep in your office. It’s your bed. Not mine.” She pressed her lips together tightly. She could feel her face flush hotly, and out of years of habit, she looked down at the floor, holding her gaze tight with the beautiful black marble. 

     “Come here,” he gestured with his index finger for her to approach and she did so, albeit slowly, “See this?” He pointed to his skull paint, and Ellinor nodded. “It has to come off now. It’s irritating me, and it’s melting everywhere. If you would be so kind as to _assist_ me in removing it, I would be very appreciative.” His voice was low as he gestured to the sink where the rag had been soaking in the hot water this entire time. Ellinor looked up at him, locking her eyes with his mismatched ones. 

     “What do I do?” she asked plainly. He pointed to the rag in the sink. 

     “You take the rag and wring it out so there's no excess water in it, and then I’ll show you where to start.” The smile on his face was placid. She turned around and pushed her sleeves up, reaching into the sink to grab for the rag at the bottom. Pulling it up, she wrung it out and shook it, making sure no excess water was present. She unfolded it into her hand and flattened it out against her palm and fingers. 

     “Is there a particular place I need to start to do it right or...?” she asked. He nodded, gesturing to his mouth.

     “Start here, it makes it easier to work your way out.” He tugged on her sleeve gently, positioning her so her back was pressed to the counter top, and he stood in front of her. He wasn’t so tall that she couldn’t reach, but he was just tall enough for her to reach exactly where he was pointing to. She took the rag and wrapped it around the tips of her index and middle fingers and tentatively reached up and pressed the rag to the side of his nose. As she dragged it down, the skull paint started to come with it but only just so. And soon, she had to repeat the process over and over again. 

     “This is very time consuming,” she said quietly. He hummed his agreement, placing his hands on the counter behind her. Absently, she noticed she was now fenced in by his arms, effectively trapped right in front of him. 

     “It takes a long time to put on and a long time to take off. It is a tedious thing,” he said, rolling his eyes as he spoke. She smiled at him, all the while moving the rag down the creases of his face gently. The room was silent and warm, and Ellinor found herself distracted—her vision stuck on the way the rag moved down his face. 

     “Why does it stick so?” she asked. He leaned forward into her touch a little bit more.

     “Use just a bit more pressure or it won’t come off.” He guided her hand, and she nodded silently as he continued. “It’s a type of greasepaint. It feels horrible going on, and it feels horrible coming off. Though I must say, this time isn’t as bad as the others.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t smirk. He simply stared straight ahead at her, his eyes locking with hers. She felt the hot creeping feeling of blush in her neck and cheeks and became acutely aware of how close he was to her—her back pushed against the counter top behind her. 

     “How long does it take to put on?” she asked quietly, her words now simply a whisper. He shrugged. 

     “Probably about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.” He leaned into her touch in that moment, her fingers pressing the rag against his skin. The paint was coming off slowly but surely. She reached behind and dipped the rag into the warm water for a moment, rinsing it off. The steam and warmth in the room was heavy, and Ellinor found herself beginning to sweat. But Papa simply watched her, a straight line across his face and his brow raised. She ran her fingers down the side of his mouth and then across, under his bottom lip. His mouth fell open as she did so. She ran the rag around his chin, getting all the paint off, only to turn and rinse the rag out again behind her. This process she repeated in several areas around his mouth, avoiding his lips at all costs. Ellinor could feel him leaning against her just a little more, his knuckles down onto the counter. 

     “Are you,” she whispered, “are you uncomfortable? Would you like to move?” Her voice was small. He shook his head. 

     “I’m fine. Continue.” He stood perfectly straight backed, staring at her the whole time. Finally, Ellinor had no choice but to rub the rag along his lips, pulling the rest of the greasepaint off. He watched her tightly; his vision locked onto her so intensely that it was hot and heavy. Ellinor drew in a breath, and with her right hand, she rubbed at the paint on his lips. And with her left, she tentatively reached up and rested her palm against his chest, steadying herself. 

     “I’m not hurting you, am I?” she asked, her eyes dancing between his own and his lips, paint half on and half off. He smirked. 

     “Of course not.” His words were simple and plain and left no room for discussion. Ellinor nodded silently and continued. She turned slightly to rinse the rag off in the water, and as she did, he reached out and gently took her hand in his. She gripped the rag, the remaining water in it dribbling out into the sink, the droplets of water echoing throughout the large bathroom. She turned and looked at him with her teeth clutching her bottom lip desperately. They stared directly at one another for a moment, both of them lost in the other. And the rooms suffocating humidity and warmth and Papa’s physical closeness was not lost on her. 

     “Papa, I…” she started to say but he shook his head. 

     “Ellinor, you’ve done a wonderful job this evening.” She blushed as he continued. “In fact, you did a better job then I usually do.” He chuckled, the sound emanating from his chest was a deep reverberating sound. Ellinor felt her lower back pressed against the marble bathroom counter top. She simply smiled at him. 

     “That’s my job, Papa. To assist you, remember?” Her words were small but warm. He sighed. 

     “Earlier, you said that you were...unsure...of what happens next. Why are you unsure?” His words were even toned and his gaze was unrelenting. Ellinor found herself clasping the wet rag in her hands tightly. She looked up at him, her mouth opening slightly to say something, only to shake her head. 

     “I, uh…” she laughed nervously, “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of getting too close.” She reached up with her right hand, still damp from holding onto the rag. “I’m afraid that…” she paused, her hand hovering just next to his cheek, but she retracted it: balling it into a fist. He did not watch her hand, and instead, he leaned closer. Ellinor was forced to bend backwards, ever so slightly, across the marble counter top. Papa’s face was mere inches from her’s, their noses almost touching. His hands were still caging her in, his knuckles still pressed firmly to the counter. His voice was low and dark as he spoke but also smooth and warm. 

     “You’re afraid that I will grow weary of you?” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. Ellinor looked at the floor, trying to beat back tears. “You’re afraid that I will send you away? Like all the other assistants you’ve heard of? How they get sent away? Is that your fear, Ellinor Holm? To be sent away?” He leaned in closer, inch by inch, and she found herself pressing back against him. Her hands running up his chest to his shoulders; her forehead pressed to his. Idly, she felt the greasepaint rubbing off onto her own skin now. The heat from the bathroom was all encompassing, and the rag was forgotten on the floor between them. She felt hot tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes; all she could do was nod vigorously. Her words failed her, and he hummed darkly. 

     “I’m afraid of being alone again.” Her words were small; her throat felt tight. “I don’t want to be alone again. I love talking to you, and I love that you talk _to_ me and not _at_ me. You gave me something to look forward to.” She laughed, a sharp bitter sound as she pushed against him closer, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. He ran his hands up her arms to her hands, still firmly planted on his chest, her fingers digging into his robes for dear life. Her eyes were staring straight at his chest, obviously trying to avoid eye contact. 

     “It’s alright,” he whispered. “I’m not going to leave you alone. You’re not going to be alone.” He let a rare smile flash across his face, his right hand pulling her chin up so she was forced to make eye contact with him. The room was warm and seemed tighter somehow, almost pressurized. Ellinor gulped. She tried to nod but couldn't from the way he was holding her chin. 

     “How do I know that though? Aren’t those just words? Words don’t really mean anything.” The corners of her eyes welled up, but she stared straight ahead at him. He nodded, tilting his head back and forth for a moment. 

     “Yes, they are just words. But, they’re my words.” His voice was nothing more than a deep whisper, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath when he spoke. “I figured my words might hold a little bit more weight.” He raised an eyebrow at her, the corners of his mouth tugged into a curving smile. Ellinor could feel her lips quivering, her head tilted back, and her eyes locked onto his. 

     “They do to me. Though, perhaps I’m biased,” she murmured, a smile pulling at her mouth. He brought his hands up to either side of her face, holding her there in front of him: she was trapped and she knew it, though she neither complained nor wished to leave. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, tears leaking from the corners once more; her forehead still pushed against his; his mismatched eyes boring through her. 

     “Why ever would you be biased, Ellinor Holm?” he asked, his hands holding her face close to his; his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on her cheekbones. She smiled weakly, running her hands up to his, holding on for dear life; her back still pressed against the counter. Her eyes still locked onto his: they were hypnotic. 

     “I respect you. I, uh...like you probably more...than I should.” Her eyes closed, only to open again and roll in her head for a moment in white hot agony at admitting that to him, after all this time. “You didn’t have to let me stay here; you didn’t have to explain yourself to me, or tolerate me at all, even. But you did.” Her voice became smaller and smaller as she spoke, her throat felt like it would collapse in on itself. She flashed back to Lena reminding her that she could be destroyed by this man: completely and utterly destroyed by him, reduced to ash. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the way his hands held her face, the feeling of his warm forehead against hers, the way the tip of his nose touched hers and the heat of his breath on her lips. A small noise crawled its way up out of her throat, and she knew it was beyond her power to stop it. 

     “You’re right,” the words came out something like a sigh, “I didn't have to let you stay or explain myself in any way, shape, or form. I didn't have to lend you books or have habits made for you.” As he spoke, he continued to rub her face with his thumbs, both of them unblinking as they stared at each other. “But I did. You are not the only one who has been alone, Ellinor Holm.” His eyes widened as he spoke, his grip on her face pulling her in; she didn’t fight it. She sighed into his lips before they made any contact at all. For a moment everything held perfectly still: his lips pressed to hers, her hands held up in mid air, not sure of where to go or even what to cling to. Finally, she found his arms and fumbled her way up to his neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself ardently against him. He pushed back, her body pressing against the edge of the counter behind her; it hurt, but she didn't care. Her fingers found their way to the back of his neck and pulled him in. She sighed into his lips, neither of them breaking contact, simply pressing against the other. 

     He pulled away for a second, only to look at her, his vision scanning her face for any sign of anything, but whatever it was he was looking for, he didn’t find it. He leaned back in, pushing his forehead against hers once more. “Ellinor,” he said in a hushed, hurried tone. She said nothing and simply hummed. Her eyes rolling back into her head. He pushed his lips against hers again, this time his right hand coming up behind her head and his left finding its way around her waist. She gripped his chasuble with her fingers, holding it tightly, her knuckles almost white. It was everything she could do not to collapse, but then she knew she wouldn’t fall to the floor, after all he was holding her upright in his arms. 

     “Papa,” she pulled away as she spoke. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. He smiled at her, a genuine real, warm smile. 

     “Papa?” His voice was a harsh whisper as he pulled her towards him again. Her hands tangling in his chasuble. “What did I tell you about what you may call me when in my quarters?” She smiled, a deep red blush tingeing her cheeks as she felt his leg slotting between hers. She pushed her forehead against his shoulder and smiled. 

     “Vittorio?” she asked gently. He pulled away from her for a moment, running his thumb across her forehead, wiping grease paint off of her. 

     “Good girl, _cara_.” He almost purred as he spoke, then showed her his thumb. She huffed out a laugh, her fingers holding onto his arms. She tilted her head back, her chin resting against his chest, their noses touching slightly. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is this what you were unsure of?” She sighed.

     “I don't know what I was really unsure of—just that I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to,” she looked around the bathroom for a moment, “I didn’t want to be rejected, I suppose.” Her words were barely more then a muttering. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet, planting a kiss on his lips. He chuckled into it, leaning her back against the bathroom counter once more; his hands roaming up and down her form, ruffling her habit. This time it was more insistent: his lips pressed to hers, their tongues tangling and weaving together, her arms around his neck and his hands wandering up and down as they pleased. His knee was still slotted between her legs, and Ellinor would be lying if she said that wasn’t the cause of her flushed face and the tight coiling in her gut. He could have picked her up and ruined her right then and there against that counter top, and she would have said nothing, happily complying with being destroyed—just as Lena had once predicted. 

     But before she could be thoroughly—let alone partially—destroyed, she heard something distracting: a knocking noise, a noise like knuckles wrapping on wood. He continued to kiss her with all the heat and fervor in the world, but it slowed as the knocking grew assertive and louder and intense, now ratcheting up from the wrapping of knuckles to the pounding of a fist. He growled as he pulled away from her, his eyes scanning down her face for a moment, seeing the greasepaint marks he’d left and her flushed cheeks, mouth hanging open, her eyes darting to the door. She clutched her hands together in front of her: waiting. He was torn between the door and her, his eyes flicking between the woman panting in front of him and the constant pounding on the door to his quarters. He held up his index finger. “Wait here, _cara_.” He turned on his heel and left. 

    It was at that moment that she turned around and looked at her disheveled form in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, her habit was wrinkled here and there, her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her lips were cherry red to match. She had tear stains on her cheeks that ran down the length of her face, and the collar of her wool habit had dark droplets on it from where they had landed. She reached down to the sink for a moment and ran hot water in her hands, wiping her eyes and face down quickly with her wet fingers. She looked up and tried to catch her breath, bringing herself down from the high she’d been on. The pulsating feeling between her legs was beginning to fade; that she did lament. Distantly she heard the door slamming and the pounding of angry walking returning to the bathroom. He appeared in the doorway and stood silently for a moment. 

     “I apologize, that was someone with some very important paperwork for me to sign.” His voice sounded distant and tired. Ellinor nodded silently, sliding her hands into her pockets. They stood there watching one another for a moment, the silence in the room was deafening. Ellinor stood away from the counter top. 

     “I should go to bed and let you take a shower. I, uh...I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She began to walk towards the  door, but he stopped her, both of his hands on her shoulders. 

     “You weren’t interrupting me, Ellinor. But,” he paused for a moment, his eyes opening wide and his eyebrow rising, “if you would permit it, I would like to sleep in my own bed tonight.” She smiled at him and looked down at the floor. She nodded.

     “I understand,” she said quietly. “Do you want me to come back in the morning? For your coffee, or would you-” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

     “No, no, no, you misunderstand, Ellinor: I’m going to take this skull paint off, and then I expect you to join me in the same bed this evening, and I promise to keep my hands to myself, if that is what you wish.” His face was plain and stern. Ellinor’s hands clenched into fists in the pockets of her habit, her teeth bit into her bottom lip, sawing away at the soft flesh there. He reached up with his hand and rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. His words came out a little more than breathe. 

     “You have lovely lips, too lovely for _you_ to be biting at anyway.” He smirked. She smiled at him, her face turning pink. He pulled away from her as he continued. “I’m going to clean up this,” he gestured to himself, “horrendous mess.” She suppressed a laugh, allowing it to turn into a wide grin instead. 

     “I, uh...I have one problem though,” she said quietly. He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting. “I don’t have anything to wear to bed.” The slowest, most devious smile made its way across his face; his left eyebrow arching in a way she’d never seen it do, let alone even thought it could. 

     “Ellinor, pardon me for asking, but are you saying that this entire time you’ve been sleeping in my bed naked, and I didn’t know it?” His words were frank and crystal clear. Ellinor blushed feverishly, her face crimson. She nodded silently, her hands still in her pockets of her habit. 

     “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to go through your bureau, and I didn’t have anything else besides my habit, and I didn’t want to get it all messed up and-” She stopped the waterfall pouring out of her mouth as she heard him chuckling with that same deep, dark sound he made when he was pleased or found something absolutely and completely hysterical. 

     “In the bottom drawer of the left hand side of the bureau are several t-shirts. I never wear them. Feel free to select any one of them.” He waved his hand vaguely. Ellinor nodded and, not knowing what else to say, turned and walked down the hall towards the bedroom. She heard the water running in the sink and the sounds of him humming delightedly. She fumbled in the darkness for the table lamps, one on either side of the bed, and flicked one of them on. The room lighting up just enough. She walked over to the curtains and looked out over the hedge maze below and in the darkness it was ominous and unwelcoming. She drew the curtains shut and turned to the bureau. They were right where he said they’d be: bottom left hand drawer, a pile of clean t-shirts. One of them had the name to a local power company on it. Ellinor found herself laughing picturing him in that and was soon disrobing as she heard the water to the sink in the bathroom shut off again. She threw her habit over the chair, not wasting any time in smoothing it out as she usually did. Instead, she rolled herself halfway across the huge bed and turned on the light on the other bedside table. Then, she came to a rest sitting on the side she had been sleeping on. She listened for any noise: the water and humming were gone, it was now silence. She sat up against the plethora of pillows, her hands in her lap, her teeth digging into her bottom lip again. She nervously picked at her fingers as she waited, unsure of what to expect; unsure of what was going to happen; unsure if this was right or wrong.

_Unsure, unsure, unsure._

     It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of foot falls in the hallway, and soon he appeared in the doorway in a black bathrobe. They stared at one another for a moment. He pointed to her, his voice soft as he spoke, “I see you found the shirts.” She nodded at him, her hands still twisting in her lap. Her eyes locked on the end of the bed. He moved about the room with ease and comfort, a level of comfort that she had never seen him in. She felt a knot in her stomach forming, but it was a nervous, anxious thing and not a pleasurable, wanting thing: she hated that. She clamped her legs together under the covers, her hands trapped between her thighs awkwardly, her shoulders caught in an uncomfortable shrug. He walked over to the side of the bed and reached for the light, his fingers lingering on the golden chain dangling there from the light bulb. He looked her in the eye, squinting slightly as he did so, before pulling on the chain and plunging the room into darkness. 

     She heard his robe fall to the floor with the soft _woosh_ that fabric always made when it fell. The covers and sheets were pulled back, and the edge of the bed shifted and caved as he climbed in. She listened in the dark as he rearranged the pillows to his liking. Ellinor still sat up ramrod straight, her hands clasped between her thighs still. Finally, she heard him sigh comfortably, his shifting having stopped. 

     “Come here, Ellinor.” She heard his voice in the dark, and she found that she couldn't resist that tugging in her chest. She leaned backwards and to the right, her head landing on his shoulder. She rolled onto her side, effectively trapping herself between his arm and his chest; her leg relaxed against his. 

     “I even wore under garments for you,” he said in her ear, punctuating the sentence with a kiss on her cheek. She let out a small laugh, burying her face into his neck, feeling that same nervous heat creeping up her neck. She pushed her nose against his neck, feeling him turn his head towards her once more. They were both still in the darkness, entwined around each other. She tentatively reached her hand up along his chest, running her fingers through chest hair. She sighed, pressing her lips to his ear and whispered, “Can we stay like this tonight?” He hummed his approval, saying nothing more. His fingers rubbing slow circles into her back. She relaxed against his chest, her face nestled into his neck. It wasn’t long before she heard soft snoring sounds and noticed the rise and fall of his chest under her hand. She pushed her lips closer to his neck, and as gently as she could, she kissed him a couple times. 

     “Thank you,” she whispered ardently against his neck, before she too succumbed to exhaustion. Both of them warm and safe in the presence of the other, hidden away from the world in the darkness of one room. 


	30. Awakening and Discovery

_Sweden_

_June 27th, 1975_

_8:13 AM_

 

     Ellinor woke up in a groggy, albeit warm, daze. She shifted slightly in her spot, the feeling of the heavy, comforting blankets holding her down. The pillow under her head was soft but just firm enough. She opened her eyes just enough to peer around and remember where she was: Papa’s bed. She expected to roll over and find him gone, but as she shifted in her spot, a heavy arm wrapped itself around her waist. Her hands automatically went to it, holding on. She scooted backwards just enough for her shoulders to touch his chest: he was very warm, and she could hear his soft breathing in her ear. She sighed to herself, pushing her head up under his chin, turning just enough so she could nestle her nose into his neck.

     “Good morning to you too, cara,” his voice rumbled softly. She smiled, closing her eyes again and cuddling into the safety of his arms. She felt his lips on her shoulder, running up her neck. 

     “Hi,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushing again. She kept her eyes closed, pushing her face into the crook of his neck, her back against his chest still. She could feel his hands roaming up and down her form in the darkness. Faintly, she noticed the edges of the curtains where the daylight strained to get in. The room was cool and dark but she was safe in those heavy covers, in his arms, his lips slowly cascading down her neck. She reached up behind her, allowing her hand to coast along the back of his neck and his jawline. He growled in her ear faintly, nipping lightly at her earlobe. She couldn't help the huff of a laugh that escaped her lips. 

     “Still anxious, Ellinor?” His voice resounded in her ear. She nodded vigorously, words escaping her for now; her cheeks were still flushed and warm. Her eyes were closed as she bit her bottom lip, feeling his warm hands traveling down her side, rumpling the t-shirt fabric as he went. 

     “What time is it?” She muttered vaguely. He hummed into her neck, his lips planting dry, soft kisses there. 

     “What does it matter? You have nowhere to be but here, after all.” She sighed, knowing that was true and leaned back further into his touch. He chuckled to himself darkly, knowing that he was right. 

     “What about my duties though?” She whispered, her voice serious and her playful smile now gone. He pulled her body flush to his, her head turned around just enough to make eye contact. They stared at one another for a moment that seemed to stretch out into forever. Finally, he shrugged. 

     “I can find someone else.” His hand glided up and down her side. “After all, you’re the only one I’d trust to organize those filing cabinets and anyone can bring coffee and leave. That’s not hard. Just add another cup.” He raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled at him, nervous, her cheeks flushing red again. She brought her hands up to her pillow, tucking them underneath it. She felt him laugh more then she heard it, his hips shifting closer to her. “You can’t really hide from me anymore, _Ellinor_.” His words in her ear were hot, and she couldn’t help the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip again, her fingers gripping the cool sheet under the pillow. She rolled her head back, just enough, so his lips connected with her’s for the briefest of moments.

     “I know.” She stared at him, his hands still gliding up and down her sides. “I don’t want to hide though.” A slow smile spread across his face at her admission, and he bent his head back to her neck, peppering kisses from her shoulders to her hairline; his right hand slowly inched its way downward to her inner thighs. She laughed, pushing her face into the pillow; his hand slowly moved its way downward, his teeth nipping at the shell of her ear. Every word he spoke was heated and whispered and heavy and caused her to sigh, her eyes beginning to roll in her head; the room began to shrink around her. She felt the hot heat of his finger tips running down her thigh, and for a moment she turned her head and looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing on her inner thigh for just a moment before she leaned back into him, her own hand coasting down his arm and to the back of his hand. They lay there like that, perfectly still for a moment, their eyes locked until Ellinor pushed his hand past the dip between her thighs, and his fingers found the center of her heat. At his first touch, she whimpered. 

     Her eyes rolled back in her head, and a languid, appeasing smile appeared on her features. His fingers simply rubbed in circles at first, very slowly; his lips kissed at her neck and shoulders, his teeth nipping here and there. She was sure he was going to leave a mark somewhere visible, but she didn’t care anymore— a piece of her wanted him to leave a mark. A piece of her wanted to belong to him: visibly. With that thought running vividly through her mind, she couldn't help the small noises bubbling up and out of her throat. He was pressed so tightly to her from behind that she felt his arousal against her lower back and, instinctually, pushed back against it. He groaned in her ears. “Not this time, cara.” She did not protest, but instead simply canted her hips against his fingers, her own hand pushing down on the back of his, guiding him: sharing with him the rhythm that only she knew. She kept pushing her hips up against his hand and pushed his hand downwards against her heat. She panted in his ear, her jaw quibbling, and her tongue peeked out to run along her lips gently. She felt hot all over and when she finally did open her eyes, just enough to see him, his vision was locked onto her like a heat seeking missile. 

     He pushed his mouth against the side of her neck, planting open mouth kisses along that beautifully pale column of flesh. As she panted and canted her hips against his hand, her movements becoming more and more erratic, her muscles tightening and her back arching; he ran the flat of his tongue up along her neck to her ear, his lips closing in on her ear lobe, his low humming in his throat vibrating everything within her. It didn't take long for her to simply succumb to the friction his hand was giving her. She felt her cheeks flush with heat, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out the softest mewling sounds. She leaned back against him, panting, her hips shuddering as his hand lingered between her legs for a moment. His movements slowing to a crawl as she came down from her high. She rolled over and pushed her face into his chest. He kissed the top of her head. 

     “I have a meeting to attend to today,” he whispered into her hair. “But when I return this evening, we may continue...our activities, if you so wish?” She didn’t look up at him but simply nodded her head into his chest, her fingers gripping onto him; not wanting to let go. He tilted her head up by her chin, pushing his forehead against hers. He said nothing, simply smiling at her before pulling away. She pulled the covers up around herself, still feeling out of breath and heated, but she watched him dress for his meeting: watching the way he went from disheveled to clean and neat and presentable in a span of less than five minutes.  He turned around to the claw footed mirror and straightened his jacket and shirt collar.

     “Do I look presentable?” he asked as he fixed the cuffs of his jacket, holding his arms out to her, as though he were waiting for approval. Ellinor nodded silently from under the covers in his bed, a soft, satisfied smile plastered on her face. “I shall return this evening,” he said as he walked over to the side of the large bed. He drummed his fingers idly on the duvet, his vision locked onto her. “You have the run of my quarters while I am gone.” His voice was soft. She sat up slightly against the pillows behind her. 

     “And when you return?” Her voice was small, almost a whisper. He looked at her with her hair everywhere, her lips were red and pouty, her cheeks were still flushed and warm. He smiled with a broad smirk, tapping his right hands knuckles against the hardwood of the four poster bed, his left hand in his grey suit pants pocket. 

     “Let’s just say that I have some plans, cara.” He raised an eyebrow at her as he turned to leave, his shoes clacking down onto the hardwood floors as he walked to the door. “I’ll be back. Be moderately good while I’m away, yes?” He flashed her a smile once more before opening the door and slipping through it, shutting the heavy thing behind him with a soft click. Distantly, she heard the sound of the door to the office opening and then closing. She lay in bed for only a moment before scooting to the edge and sliding out from under the warm covers. She reached up and opened the curtains, pulling back the dark green heavy drapes away from the large windows. In the daylight, the hedge maze was a fascinating and beautiful thing that took on its own presence in the garden. In the distance, she could just make out two figures wandering through the rose bushes, though she couldn't tell who they were. 

     Finally, she broke away from the window and went over to the bureau where she’d found the t-shirts the night before. She dug around in the bottom drawer, but there was nothing else there to be found and so she was forced to either put on her habit or wander around in her underwear: she opted for the underwear. She opened the bedroom door and walked out into the hallway. It was warm and shockingly well lit—usually it was dim. The door to the office was closed, but he had said she had the run of his quarters while he was gone and now, after her exhilarating awakening that morning, she had to admit to feeling slightly adventurous. 

     She was still tentative in the way she walked down the hallway, passing the bathroom on her left and on her right, what appeared to be an old painting, though she didn’t know who by or of what: it looked to be trees on a riverbank. She kept walking. Her footsteps were light and the hallway ended in a large open room. There was only one large window, and it was covered by a huge dark green, heavy clothed curtain that seemed to beg not to be moved. The room was dark, almost not able to be navigated, but she eventually made it to the window and pulled back the curtain just enough to reveal the outside view. It was of the back portion of the property, the gardens wrapped around this wing of the building and down, far below, she could make out what looked to be a stream or a creek, with several large, ancient trees hanging over it. 

     “That looks like the painting in the hall,” she whispered to herself, but thought no more of it as she pulled the curtain back enough to reveal the room and all its contents. A large desk, which had obviously seen better days, sat directly in the middle of the room. It had no chair though but was covered in framed photographs. Walking over to it, she suddenly noticed the walls were covered in still more paintings, by the same hand as the one in the hallway. One of the larger ones were actually of the hedge maze out outback. But she wasn’t thinking of that now. Her eyes had caught the photographs on the desk. They were all framed in various types of frames: some ornate and beautiful and carefully crafted and others were simply Polaroids propped up against frames. Some of the frames were surrounding tiny paintings. She picked one of them up and gingerly turned it around, popping open the casing to the frame. She looked at the date: 1949. Turning the photo back around, she saw that it was the Second with his younger brother and his older brother. 

     She couldn't help the smile on her face, “Even in 1949 you weren’t going to smile for the camera?” she whispered, her fingers running along his image in the photo. He was young, but still no hair. His brother was grinning like an idiot, his head on his elder brothers shoulder, making a fool of himself, and his oldest brother was simply smiling pleasantly. Who took the photo, it didn't say, but she placed it back in its frame and promised herself she’d ask about it later. It was in that moment, she realized what she was looking at: photos of the Second, his mother, his father, his siblings, places he’d been, people he’d known, in short: his most prized collection, something without monetary worth, hidden away from prying eyes. She placed the frame back down on the desk, biting her bottom lip, distantly wondering if a photo of her would ever be worthy of being on that desk. 

     She’d never wanted something so bad in all her life. 


	31. Trading Barbs

_Sweden_

_June 27th, 1975_

_1:18 PM_

     He hated waiting. Pacing back and forth outside of his father’s office was a trial in and of itself. He walked carefully though, his hands in his pockets as he paced from the stone banister back to the marble archway: the door to his father’s office was shut, and only the slight sound of mumbled speech could be heard emanating from behind it. He didn’t look up. Instead, he watched the way his shoes lined up with the lines in the marble as he walked. He had a vague memory of doing this as a child, his younger brother following along behind him dutifully. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but just as the door to  the office opened, he pushed the thought away, back down into the depths of his mind. The Ghoul did not speak but rather held his arm out, indicating for him to enter. He nodded to the masked creature and walked inside. The Ghoul shut the door behind him and stood by it, his hands clasped behind his back. He stood perfectly still and straight-backed, seemingly turning into a statue if it hadn’t been for the slight movement of his tail. 

     “Your Unholiness.” Sister Imperator stood by his father’s side; there was no smile on her face. His father did not say a word and, instead, simply gestured to the chair in front of the desk. But, the Second politely refused, holding up his hand and shaking his head. 

     “I thank you for your offer, Father, but I shall stand. I’m sure this won’t be long anyway.” A forced smile found its way onto his face. His father shrugged and cleared his throat, leaning forward. 

     “I haven’t seen you in a while, Vittorio.” His voice sounded old, and it was then that Vittorio noticed his father’s white hair, his milky eyes, the wrinkles, and the way his whole body creaked when he breathed. It was as if his father had aged dramatically over the course of only one moment. But he ignored it—just as he always had. _This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last,_ he thought to himself as he began to walk over to the large window of the office. The view overlooked the hedge maze below, and far off on the other side of the sprawling compound, he could just see the corner square of the most isolated portion of the building. Offhandedly, he found himself wondering what Ellinor was doing in there all by herself. His reverie was interrupted. 

     “Your Unholiness, we asked for you to be here today so we could discuss something in person.” Sister Imperator’s voice was sharp. He turned around quickly on his heel, his hands held out as he shrugged. 

     “And whatever would the topic of that be, Sister Imperator?” His voice walked on the edge of mockery as he clasped his hands behind his back once more. She tilted her head, not a strand of grey hair falling out of place as she did so. 

     “We have noticed that you have not requested a new assistant since March. I mean no disrespect when I say this but-” she was cut off with a wave of his father’s hand. 

     “Enough with the pleasantries, Audra!” His voice sounded brittle and far away as he spoke. “It is completely uncharacteristic of you to keep an assistant for so long, Vittorio. You know it. I know it. Your brother knows it! Everyone knows it.” He shook his head as he spoke, his lips pressed together tightly. The Second did not speak. Instead, he simply stared ahead at the older man, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as usual. Nihil fidgeted with a pen in front of him, turning it this way and that as he stared at it. “She’s a bond servant, you know. She is property of the Church and, therefore, cannot give you an heir. Rather, cannot give _me_ an heir.” His voice was harsh and dry. The Second tilted his head back and forth, his eyebrows raised as he began to walk back over to the large window. He looked out below him, surveying his older brothers garden. He sighed before he spoke. 

     “I know she’s a bond servant, but I don’t care. She’s still a person. She doesn’t belong to anyone or anything but herself.” He turned around sharply and stared at Nihil, whose eyes narrowed to tiny, intrigued slits. 

     His father’s voice was softer now, coming out almost in a whisper: “She belongs to the Church, Vittorio. You know this.” 

     “She signed the contract. We have the contract in her file; it’s in the archive. You cannot refute that.” Imperator’s voice was harsh and cold. The room fell into a strange silence, and the Second simply stared at his father, his gaze never venturing to Imperator. The fireplace in the room gently crackled, despite the heat outside. The room itself was built from thick stone, which meant a damp chill still clung to the air, despite it being June. 

     “Present the contract then,” the Second said, his voice was steady and firm. 

     “Alpha.” Nihil said to the Ghoul still standing by the door, still as a statue. “Where is the contract for the bond servant assigned to Papa Emeritus the Second.” His eyes slid over to his son, regarding him with the same disdain he’d always had for his children. Alpha did not turn, nor did he move whatsoever. Instead, he spoke without a doubt in his voice. 

     “The contract for the bond servant known as Ellinor Holm is no longer within the Church’s possession.” Nihil furrowed his brow and looked between Alpha and Imperator—and then once again between the two for good measure. 

     “You lost it?!” Imperator’s voice rose as she spoke. She walked over to the Ghoul, standing directly in front of him now, her head tilted upwards to look him in the eye. “How did you lose it? You are in charge of that entire archive. Every single book and scrap of paper is under your domain, and your jurisdiction to be cared for by your hands and you-” she was cut off abruptly by a deep rumbling sound that seemed to roll throughout the room. It was all-encompassing. It made the Second’s chest clench and look around wide-eyed for a moment, wondering where it was coming from. 

     “No one lost it.” Alpha’s voice was a dark and guttural sound as it came crawling up out of him. “It was never there to begin with. I have searched high and low for this contract, and if I, the Overseer of the Archive, have not found it, then it is not there to be found.” As he finished speaking, the rumbling that had built up suddenly slowed and dissipated. Nihil stared at the Ghoul with his mouth slightly agape. Imperator’s lips were pressed so tightly together that they were devoid of all blood and had become paper-white. The Ghoul went back to standing straight-backed and still—as silent as a statue once more. The room devolved into a tense silence. Nihil leaned back in his chair, the sounds of his bones creaking echoed throughout the room. 

     “So,” The Second broke the silence in the room. “Seeing as there is no contract, I assume this meeting is concluded?” He watched his father’s face, noticing how the old man nodded his head, his eyebrows raised in—what appeared to be—defeat. 

     “Not quite, Your Unholiness,” Imperator said quickly, holding up her hand. “You know what you’re doing goes against the Church. You are fully aware that you are, by all means, allowed to have any relation with anyone here as you so wish. But with a bond servant? That is against the tenets, it is-” 

     “Why?” He held his hands out, a smirk spread across his face. “Why is that wrong? The Overseer has just said that there is no contract. Therefore, her bond servant status is negated. It will now simply fall down to a _clerical error_.” A wry chuckle emerged from him then as he tucked his hands away, back into his pockets. He smiled broadly from ear to ear. Imperator’s face began to flush, her lips pressed tightly together once more. Her hands were now clutching one another tightly: her knuckles were white. The Second looked at his father, who simply gestured to the door with a vague wave of his hand. He bowed to Nihil and began to walk towards the door when Imperator grabbed him by the arm, looking him directly in the eyes. Her words were a harsh whisper. 

     “I know you finagled this somehow. I know you did. I know you’re only in this for the power and the rewards. You don’t care about any of this. You don’t care about what we’re doing here. You’ve always been a brat, and I don’t know how you did this, but I will find out.” Every word that came out of her mouth was steeped in venom. Her eyebrows rose as she spoke, and her grip on his arm tightened. But the Second simply smiled broadly as he pulled his arm away. Prying it out of her grasp, he dusted his sleeve off with his hand as he spoke. 

     “You know, _Sister Imperator_ , as Papa I am allowed as many prime movers as I see fit, though I do retain full rights to hand select them—as it is dictated by the Church.” He turned and looked at his father, who nodded his head in agreement. “So, my choosing a bond servant who, admittedly, was my assistant for many months over anyone else would indeed raise some hackles, I’m sure. Though, I suppose that’s better than slaving away under a man who always chose someone else over you. _Every single time_.” He flashed a devious, poisonous smile in her direction, and she recoiled her hand as though she’d been bitten. Her eyes began to gloss over just enough that the Second noticed—and oh, how he delighted in it. He turned to his aged father one last time and bowed his head, then turned on his heel sharply and headed for the door. The Ghoul opened it quickly, and the Second walked through the archway. The Ghoul turned to Nihil and bowed as well, taking his leave. Nihil dismissed him with a curt nod of his head, and the door slammed shut soundly behind him. 

     Imperator and Nihil were enveloped in silence. Imperator stared at the rug; her face felt hot, and her chest was tight. She looked over at Nihil who had gone back to whatever paperwork was in front of him. She watched him for a long moment, and the horrible realization that the Second was right smacked her in the face. She could feel the corners of her eyes brimming with hot tears. She did not tell Nihil goodbye, nor did she say a word at all; she simply walked to the door and let herself out. Her footsteps disappeared down the hallway, echoing on the stone corridor. However, the trail of hot, wet tears falling onto the cold stone floors was not as obvious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, so this story is winding to a close but everyone wanted an update so here we are. We're looking at three more chapters from here out. The next one is already written and I'm working on the last two this week. I apologize this has taken me so long to update but unfortunately LIFE happens. Thank you for bearing with me. 
> 
> <3


	32. Plots and Plans

_Sweden_

_June 27th, 1975_

_3:06 PM_

 

     Alpha had gotten away from the office as quickly as he could. He had walked behind his Unholiness Papa Emeritus the Second for only a few moments before he broke off and disappeared down a tight, unused corridor on the way back to the library. He walked quickly and unhindered through the dark, unlit passageway. His shoes were clipping down hard onto the stone. Idly, he found himself wondering where the Second would go after that meeting. Not so idly, he found himself thinking about how awful it had been. He shook his head, attempting to dispel the scene from his mind. 

     As he emerged from the corridor, he was in a whole other section of the Church. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of someone talking loudly and someone else laughing. He wasn’t concerned; he kept walking. He walked down a flight of stairs, down into the main lobby and then turned right into a large open hall. He passed the main doors, which were flung open. Outside, he caught a glance of people on the lawn, sitting in the sun. Many Sisters of Sin sat in groups in the dark green grass; some of them had books, but others were occupied with a more interesting subject: the Third Emeritus. One of them was playing with his hair, his head in her lap. Alpha sighed and continued to walk, his hands clasped behind his back tightly, his tail swishing this way and that wildly. It didn’t take him long to get back to the safety of his archive. Here, hidden behind the solid heavy wooden door, he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. He flopped into a chair by the fireplace, watching the flames dance in front of him. He leaned his masked face into the palm of his hand, his elbow leaning on the armrest for support. 

     “How’d it go, brother?” The sound of Omega’s voice cut through the stillness of the room like a hot knife. Alpha sighed and rolled his eyes behind his mask. He didn’t look up. 

     “How long have you been waiting for me?” he asked with a sarcastic cut to his tone. Omega laughed, a rumbling, jolly sound. 

     “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps an hour? What does that matter though? How’d the meeting go? I need to know.” He hopped down from the old unused desk he had been seated on and walked over to his elder brother in his chair. He loomed over him, leaning on the back of it, flicking Alpha’s mask idly. Alpha pulled away from him sharply and stood up. His eyes were narrow slits, but Omega simply chuckled and leaned against the edge of Alpha’s desk, his arms folded across his chest: waiting. They stared at one another for a long moment before Alpha drew in a sharp breath and began to pace in front of the fireplace, his tail swishing around behind him. 

     “The Second pretended not to know anything about the contract.” Alpha’s voice was soft as he spoke, his eyes downcast to the floor in front of him. Omega chuckled and clapped his hands together as he stood up. 

     “I told you, brother!” His voice boomed through the archive. “You should have more faith in me.” He walked over to Alpha and clasped him on the shoulder, shaking him with a firm grip. Alpha sighed: it was a heavy and weighty sound. Omega’s smile began to fade behind his mask and his playful grip on his brother’s shoulders tightened into an embrace. “What’s wrong, Alpha?”

     “I’ve lied to my direct superior. I have aided and abetted in breaking a cardinal rule of the church and its doctrine. I know, brother, that this is important. I know that it is,” he paused as he pulled away from Omega and turned to the fireplace in front of him, the shadows from the flames bouncing off of his mask, “...part of a plan beyond my comprehension or full knowledge. I know all of this and more. But I now feel _responsible_.” His hands curled into fists.

     “Responsible for what?” Omega asked quietly. 

     “For whatever may happen after this point. For everything that may come of this one action: of my one decision to lie.” Alpha’s voice was decisive and clear. He hung his head, his eyes closed behind his mask. Omega walked up from behind his brother and stood beside him. The mirth in his voice now gone as he spoke. 

     “Alpha, this is our purpose. You know that. You are simply doing as the Old One wishes you to. You are fulfilling HIS plans. Not some simpleton humans.” Omega’s voice was full of reassurance and validation, his hand coming up to rest on Alpha’s shoulder. But Alpha simply shrugged it off and turned away, his hands clasped behind his back tightly, his tail sharply whipping this way and that. Omega watched in silence. 

     “I am the arbitrator of this.” Alpha’s voice was distant and soft. “Whatever comes from this, I must see it through. Whatever the cost.” 

     “You think I’m not with you in this?” Omega asked quietly. “You think I don’t know that I, too, am down in this? That I am also responsible? I am the one who asked you to lie, brother! All of this can be laid at my door!” Omega’s voice seemed to rise higher with every word, and he began to walk towards Alpha, one heavy footfall at a time. “I asked you to do this to fulfill the plans of something that is beyond me; beyond you! Beyond these humans that we are sworn to protect and uphold with our very existence!” He was shouting. His voice bouncing off the stone walls of the dingy, dark, archive. 

     “Omega, you’re yelling! Be quiet!” Alpha spun around, his hand raised to the mouth of his mask. “We don’t want the whole church to know what-” Alpha was cut off abruptly as the flames in the fireplace began to wobble and shake. They danced and grew and moved as though a fierce wind was shaping them. The flames grew higher and higher, and as they did, a voice sang out. It sounded akin to the gentlest breeze on a soft summer day, the sweetest of whispers from the most cherished of lovers—perhaps even the soft sound of a babbling brook in a place you never thought you’d find one, but you certainly needed it more than ever before. Alpha and Omega both turned and looked at the flames. The delicate voice began to rise higher and higher as the flames began to lick at the stone mantelpiece that attempted to contain them. Suddenly the flames began to change color—burnt orange to dark green—which only gave way to a bright red flame that burned a beautiful azure blue at its center. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone, and with what sounded like a deep sigh, the flames in the fireplace went out entirely. The room was bathed in silence, and it was now only lit by the light of day outside. Alpha and Omega stared at the now-empty hearth: the logs in it were crackling and popping; the fissures in the wood were bright red hot. 

     “The green flames I’ve seen before,” Alpha said quietly; reverently. “I know that’s the Second. But who is the red?” 

     “I think a better question, brother, would be, ‘who is the blue supporting the red’. The red was not alone. It was also the brightest when the blue appeared. I do not know who either of them are though.” His voice began to peter out, and he looked down at the floor, sighing. 

     “This is a riddle then.” Alpha said sharply as he began to pace back and forth. “The Old One has always spoken in riddles. But...why now? Why not earlier? This is simply more proof that he’s watching closely. Though I must admit, this is closer than ever before. So, he is truly here.” Alpha paced back and forth, walking from one end of the room to the other, dodging boxes of papers and books, only to come back the same way he went. 

     “He is everywhere, brother.” Omega’s voice did not shake as Alpha’s had. Alpha stopped pacing, and they both looked up from the empty hearth—their eyes locked on one another for a long moment. Alpha simply nodded his head mutely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end of this story. Next chapter there will be some fireworks. I promise. But I wanted to post this so its done and out of the way. Thanks for reading and for tolerating my update schedule, as usual, it is not the greatest. 
> 
> <3


	33. Simul Ad Extremum

_Sweden_

_June 27th, 1975_

_3:36 PM_

 

     Ellinor had taken her time getting dressed. She didn’t have a hairbrush, so her fingers had to suffice. She made the bed and put all the pillows back where they had started: the sheets were pulled up tight and taut and tucked in perfectly. She had opened all the curtains in both the bedroom and the room at the end of the hallway—even going so far as to open the curtains in the office and to organize the paperwork on the desk, if only a little bit. Papa had said she was free to roam in his quarters, and so she took that literally. For the first time in her life, she felt safe enough to go through someone else's bookshelf, take her time looking at all the paintings on the walls, and look at the photos on the desk. She found herself continually coming back to the large spare room at the back of his quarters to look at all the photos. Standing in front of the desk once more, she reached out and held up a black and white photo of a young woman and a baby on her lap. Ellinor flipped the frame over and began to open it when she was interrupted. 

     “There’s a trick to that frame,” he said, standing in the archway to the hall, hands in his pockets; his eyes were fixed on her from behind darkened lenses. She drew in a sharp breath and looked down at the frame clutched in her hands. She said nothing but held it out to him. She felt a twinge of nerves as she replayed that morning’s events in her mind, and her cheeks flushed crimson. He walked towards her and took the frame from her hands. He flipped it over and popped open the bottom: the photo fell out into his hand. He placed the empty frame down onto the desk and held up the photo, taking his sunglasses off as he looked at it and shaking his head slightly. He chuckled, more to himself than anyone else. 

     “You know who this very healthy, albeit very round, child is in this picture?” He held the photo up for her, a knowing smile spread across his face. She shook her head. 

     “I assumed it was you, but...” She shrugged, trying to suppress a smile. 

     “Me? No, no, no, that is logical to assume though.” He nodded as he spoke, “No, I was a normally-shaped child; however, my little brother was not. Ignazio looked like a perfectly round ball until he was about a year old.” He laughed outright at his own joke, looking at the photo in his hand. Ellinor looked at the photo in silence, simply waiting for the next scrap of information. But it did not come. He was caught up in looking at the picture in front of him, and Ellinor could wait no longer to ask. 

     “Who is this woman he’s with?” Her voice was small as she spoke. 

     “That is his mother.” He shook his head slightly. “I cannot remember her name though.” Papa looked up just then, his gaze carrying out the window, fixed on the garden below. 

     “What happened to her?” Ellinor whispered, licking her bottom lip as she spoke. He began to put the photo back into the frame as he shrugged. 

     “I don’t know. One day she was here, and the next…” He shut the little door to the frame and shook it, the photo aligning up inside it perfectly. “She was gone.” He placed the frame back down onto the desk and slid his hands back into his pockets. 

     “Did your mother also disappear?” Ellinor asked quietly, her eyes locked onto his face. He chuckled bitterly. 

     “Not as absolutely as Ignazio’s did,” he said in a low voice as he tapped the desk with a single finger. “She left when I was six, but she faded away rather than disappeared into the night.” 

     “What do you mean?” Ellinor asked, her voice soft as she bit her bottom lip. Her fingers tangled together nervously as the man in front of her began to circle the desk with the photos as he spoke. 

     “Well, she sent me letters and photographs and things. I have them all. They’re somewhere in here. In an envelope on that shelf, I think,” he said as he gestured vaguely with his hand towards the looming bookshelf by the empty fireplace. “But she wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Not at all what Father had planned, I’m sure.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. Ellinor nodded silently, clasping her hands in front of her and gazing out the window that overlooked the garden. Anything to try and break herself away from the conversation and the heat rising along the column of her neck. He was standing very close to her in that moment, both of them looking out the window for a split second. Finally, he spoke up. 

     “I almost forgot,” he said leisurely, “I have something for you, if you’ll simply close your eyes and hold your hands out.” He smiled at her with that same mischievous grin he gave her that morning when he’d had his hand between her legs. She involuntarily blushed at the memory as she shut her eyes, a welcome escape from the tension of the moment. She held her hands out palms up, biting her lip as she waited. She felt him place something that felt like a letter in her hands. He didn’t say anything, but instead closed her fingers up around what had to be an envelope. When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was indeed correct. 

     “What is this?” she asked, flipping the envelope over in her hands repeatedly. Her heart raced, panicking, thinking of it being a letter of termination. She could feel the blood from her face drop to her feet. But he only smiled and began to walk over to the window as he spoke. 

     “It is your contract. You are free to do whatever it is you wish now.” He let out a small sigh, his back turned to her. She scrambled to open the envelope. Her fingers flying to the sealed edge of the paper and ripping it open, only to pull out a ragged, stained, creased piece of paper. The writing on it was the same it had been a decade ago when she signed it. Her eyes scanned the cover page, she flipped through it and to the back, revealing her own signature at the bottom: written in that white ink that the Abbess had made her use. The Abbess’s signature was there, along with two others that she couldn’t quite read, time having rubbed most of the ink into a poor representation of its former self. She stared at her own signature for a long time. 

     “Why are you giving me this?” she asked, her eyes still locked on the paper in front of her. He shrugged, turning his head and speaking over his shoulder to her. 

     “It’s for you. It is yours. You are now free to see all those places in the world you wanted to see and never thought you could or would.” His voice was straightforward and clear; he sounded resigned. But to what, she did not know. He turned back to the window: his back was stiff, and his hands were tightly clasped together. Ellinor walked over to him, standing very close. He raised an eyebrow, giving her a sidelong glance. She opened her mouth, looking down at the contract in her hands. Her words came out quickly, rushed, as though she’d been thinking about this for years. 

     “I don’t want to see those places if I can’t see them with you. I just want to stay wherever you are. If that means living out the rest of my days until my contract is complete, then so be it.” She held the paper back out to him. He squinted at her as she continued. “Destroy it. _You_ destroy it. Just throw it in the fire, rip it up, I don’t care. If I am to live truly free, then I want you to be the one who frees me.” She gestured to the paper in her hand once more. There was an urgency in her eyes that he had not seen before, something pressing and compelling in those green eyes. The silence in the room was deafening as he turned to her. His gaze dropped down to the paper in her hand and then back up to her eyes. He reached out to the paper, his hand lingering in mid air for a moment, his mouth opened just slightly so as he tilted his head. Finally, he took the paper from her and sighed. He looked it over one more time before lifting his gaze to her. 

     “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked quietly. “It is yours, _technically_.” His voice was quieter than usual but Ellinor pushed the paperwork into his hands, pushing it against his chest, watching it crumple up. 

     “Yes, absolutely sure. I want you to do it. You’ve-” she faltered for a fraction of a second before her face began to flush pink and her eyes went glossy. “You’re the only one whose ever made me feel like a person. Please do this thing for me.” Her voice was a low, heavy whisper as she looked down at the floor again, her hands wringing together. He looked at the crumpled up paperwork in his hands. It was old and discolored, and he suddenly found this great feeling of hatred for it bubbling up inside him. He gathered up and smoothed it out on the edge of the desk next to him, collecting it together and tapping it on the edges so it would all be in a neat pile. Ellinor watched on, nervously. He gestured for her to follow him as he walked over to the empty fireplace at the end of the large room. Reaching up to the mantelpiece, he pulled down a box of matches. He tucked the paperwork under his arm and pulled one out and lit it. The flames burst from the end of the long match stick and sparked to life. He sighed, pulling the paperwork out from under his arm and holding it up over the empty hearth. Ellinor stood by, expectantly. He turned and looked at her one last time, his left eyebrow raised. He said nothing at all—after all, he didn’t have to. Ellinor nodded her head tightly, her eyes were wide as she watched, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. With no more debate, he held the burning match under the paperwork, and it caught quickly enough. The flames began to engulf it as he held it out over the empty hearth, turning it this way and that, so the flames would consume the whole thing. Finally, he let it go and it dropped into a pile of cold, dead embers. It curled up on the edges, which were now blackened and crisp. He stared into the fireplace, watching the document burn up into nothing more than ashes. Soon the meager flames consumed the whole document and all was left was a smoking pile. They both stared into the fireplace for a moment. Ellinor’s eyes were wide, but slowly, a smile began to creep across her features. She raised her hand to her mouth, trying to cover it up desperately. But that didn’t work, and soon she felt hot tears running down her face. She tried to wipe them away with her sleeve. 

     “No, no, we can’t have any of that.” He turned to her, his left hand on her shoulder, and his right hand wiping her tears away with his thumb. She covered her eyes with her hands and laughed, falling forward against his chest. He put his arm around her shoulders, listening to her crying, sighing, laughing. 

     “Are you alright?” he whispered into her hair. She nodded quietly, pulling away from him then, her face stained with tears and her eyes encircled with puffy pink circles. 

     “I just...never thought that would happen. I thought...I don't know what I thought. I guess I just assumed I would die here, alone and in servitude.” Her voice was small and tight. Her throat constricted with tears. He looked down at her, pulling her chin up with his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

     “You’re not in servitude anymore. You are free to go and,” he paused, sighing, “you answer to no one.” He gave her a sad, slow smile. She smiled deliriously at him, laughing with an earnest sound he’d never heard from her. She reached out to his shirt, picking at the buttons there. She let out a soft sigh and smiled broadly. 

     “I would answer to you,” she said gently, her fingers digging into his shirt. He looked down at her hands and smiled. He took them in his, pulling them away from his shirt. He rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs. 

     “You don’t have to. You never did, really. You simply completed your duties, and you completed them well and efficiently.” He gave a stiff nod. “If you so choose, you are free to leave.” She looked up at him, their eyes locked, and the room fell into a stiff silence for a minute. She smiled up at him. 

     “I don't want to leave. I want to stay here. If you’ll have me.” Her voice was small as she spoke. He chuckled, a dark, deep sound emanating from his chest. He clutched her hand in his own. 

     “Of course, I would have you, Ellinor. I would _love_ to have you. But if you’ll stay, is another matter entirely.” He tilted his head as he spoke, a devious smirk on his lips. She couldn't help the nervous laugh or the blush that crept up into her cheeks. She nodded her head firmly. 

     “I would like to stay, yes,” she said quietly, scooting just ever slightly closer. She stiffened up as she felt his warm arm go around her waist, pulling her flush to him. She made the smallest mewling sound as she was pulled against his chest. 

     “I told you earlier that upon my return we could continue our activities.” His eyebrows rose as he spoke, and a wide, knowing smile spread across his face. “You are free to say ‘no,’ of course.” 

     “No, I mean, no, I don't want to say no. I would like to...continue.” She bit her bottom lip once more. He said nothing, but flashed that same devious smile at her as he pulled her chin up once more with his hand, forcing her to make eye contact with him. It was nerve wracking. Her hands jittered, and she could feel her face becoming heated. He pushed his forehead to hers, and her breath hitched in her throat. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and as she tilted her head upwards, trying desperately to get closer, he pulled away. 

     “Come,” he said swiftly, taking her by the hand and leading her away down the hallway. She was more being tugged along than she was walking: her legs felt like jelly already, and nothing had even happened, aside from that morning. She could feel her throat and mouth becoming dry as they passed by the paintings hung on the walls—though, they were merely blurs now. The only thing she could focus on was him. As they walked through the doorway and into the bedroom, he didn’t bother with pleasantries and simply turned around and picked her up, sitting her on the bed. She landed unceremoniously as he stalked over to the curtains and closed them hurriedly. Bathing the room in darkness, only the slightest rays of sunlight peeked through the edges. He walked quickly over to the door and shut it. Ellinor sat with her hands in her lap as he approached her. He stood in front of her, his hands at his sides; his eyes locked onto hers. She looked up at him, biting her bottom lip so hard she thought her teeth might puncture the skin.

     “Nervous, cara?” he whispered, his voice low as he ran his hand up her neck. He rubbed the back of her neck with his thumb idly. She let out a shaky laugh, pushing her head against his hand. 

     “A little bit.” she whispered, only to roll her eyes and sigh. “No, that's a lie. A lot. A lot nervous.” 

     “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to, of course.” He smiled at her with a crooked grin, his eyebrows raising as he did so. She gave a short, skittish laugh, her cheeks turning red. 

     “No, no, I don't want that. I’m just not…” She gestured with her hands in the air for a moment, trying to find the words. “I don't want you to be disappointed.” She looked down at her hands, now once again in her lap. He hummed as he thought. 

     “You can’t disappoint me, Ellinor,” he said quietly, his words rolling off his tongue. He leaned forward, pressing his fists against the mattress on either side of her. She gave a nervous smile, biting her lip once more. He pushed his nose against hers as though he were testing the waters. He hummed once more at her, waiting for one last message to stop, some kind of resistance given, anything—but none came. Ellinor’s breath hitched one last time in her throat before she felt his lips on hers. She closed her eyes, smiling into the kiss. It was everything she had dreamt about. He was warm and soft, and he smelled good, and she found herself pulling him closer to her by the lapels of his suit jacket. She leaned backwards on the back, pulling him with her, their lips staying connected the whole time. She thought she was on fire, but she knew better than that. 

     He broke the kiss for only a moment and removed his suit jacket, casting it to the ground, uncaring for its condition as it lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She pulled him back down to her as their lips came crashing back together. Her fingers feverishly started to unbutton his shirt. She wasn’t watching what she was doing, but she knew them well enough to get them undone in record time. She pushed it out of the way but never broke contact as she ran her fingers through his chest hair. He grunted into their kiss as she gripped his chest hair at the roots with her fingers. She smiled mischievously and slid down the bed slightly, angling her hips against his. He sat up again and removed his shirt, once more casting the fabric to the floor into a discarded pile. 

     “Roll over,” he said lowly, and she did so. He ran his hands up the backs of her legs and under her skirt. She giggled into the mattress. 

     “It tickles.” She shivered as she spoke. He did it again, eliciting a similar reaction, only to pull his hands away and began to unbutton the back of her uniform. 

     “I regret now requesting so many accursed buttons on this thing,” he said hurriedly as he tried to unbutton it with as much speed as he could muster. She laughed into the mattress, which she was still face down in. 

     “You know, I can do it, if you want,” she said, her voice muffled slightly. He shook his head as he undid one more.

     “No, I rather like the act of disrobing you with my own hands.” As he spoke, he undid the last button, and she felt his warm hands sliding inside the garment and pushing it off to the side. His palms running along her sides; up and down once and then twice before pulling away. He tugged at her, indicating for her to roll over, and he grabbed the cuff of her sleeve, pulling it off. She felt hot all over and felt more blush creeping up from her chest and to her neck and into her cheeks. Her second sleeve came off, and soon he was pulling the dress down her thighs and letting it fall to the floor in the same jumbled up pile with everything else. 

     “Not going to try and hide, cara?” he said, still seated on his knees, straddling her. She shook her head. 

     “There’s no reason. Not from you, anyway.” She didn’t blush when she said that. She sat up on her elbows, and with one finger, pulled at the waistband of his pants; the leather belt he was wearing offered resistance to her tugging. She looked up at him, her teeth still latched onto her bottom lip, but her eyes were determined. He chuckled, as all men do when in that position, and Ellinor knew that and had been expecting it. He started to take it off, all the while keeping eye contact with her. He didn’t remove it entirely and instead, as soon as it was unbuckled, he let it hang there loosely. She sat up into his arms and was met with kisses on her neck that lingered and sucked and bit, just enough to make her sigh. His roaming hands on her shoulders were tugging bra straps down her arms. His warm hands that slid to her back and unbuckled the most irritating of cloth garments to have ever been fashioned. He didn’t stop to look as the offending piece of clothing fell away and landed on the floor. He just kept kissing her neck, and soon they both fell backwards onto the bed, his lips finding their way up into her hairline. She raked her nails down his chest, eliciting a groan from him—something she never thought she would hear. She tugged again at the waistband to his pants, and he chuckled as he kissed her neck again. 

     “I see how it is,” he whispered into her ear as he sat up slightly, just enough to reach and undid his pants. Ellinor brought her index finger up to her mouth unconsciously, and bit the tip of it. As soon as his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped she pushed them down and away with her legs. 

     “I told you that you couldn’t disappoint me.” He smiled as he spoke, his pants falling to the floor. His hands went back to coasting up and down her sides, finally reaching the hem of her underwear. His fingertips tugged at it teasingly. She squirmed under his hot gaze. But he took his sweet time, pulling them down only in small increments—the whole while watching her face and the way her hips moved. She found herself bringing her hands up and cupping her breasts. He watched with one raised eyebrow and smiled. Ellinor blushed a crimson red when she noticed his look. 

     “Please?” she whispered quietly, the word almost inaudible as it escaped her mouth. 

     “Hmm, cara?” he asked, gently teasing her with a smirk on his face. She closed her eyes for a moment, canting her hips against his hands. 

     “Please take them off?” she asked only a bit louder this time, making soft mewling sounds as he pretended to debate with himself. 

     “I suppose I can tease you later,” he muttered as he pulled them all the way down and off. They landed in the same pile on the floor with everything else. Ellinor reached up to his arms as he bent forward over her. Their faces aligned once again. Her hands ran up his arms to his shoulders and then his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. This time it was hot and wet and full of everything she’d ever wanted to give him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling him completely pressed against her and wanting. He groaned into their kiss. She pulled away and panted, her hands holding onto the sides of his face. His forehead pressed against hers, and his hands ran up and down her sides, coasting over to her breasts; squeezing gently at soft, pink peaks. She groaned when he did and pushed her hips up to his. They did not speak about it nor make a verbal decision, but he sat up and adjusted her against him. She licked her bottom lip as she watched him, her eyes wide and her hands once again cupping her own breasts—whether out of nerves or something else, she was unsure. She could feel the heat from him at her entrance, and she had to fight the urge to push down against it. But instead, found her hips seemingly moving of their own accord. He hissed through his teeth when she did that, his vision glued to the scene in front of him. 

     “ _Ellinor_ ,” he groaned as he picked up her left leg and held it up. He raised an eyebrow at her, an obvious question whether or not to proceed. But she nodded sharply and hurriedly, her mouth falling open and her eyes rolling back into her head as she felt it: that familiar, wet, spreading heat that was driven straight to her core. She couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and her right hand slid down between her legs. 

     “Good girl, cara.” He breathed slowly through clenched teeth, his hips moving to their own beat. He grabbed her right leg with his other hand and started to push them backwards against the mattress. He leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough so he could still see what she was doing. Her mouth fell open and a stream of happy, contented, sighs escaped. Her hand busily worked to a beat of its own: one only she really knew the tune to. And after all that time of dreaming about it, she had to admit, this was even better than she thought it would be. His thrusts were beginning to match up with her hands movements, and he watched her with his mouth open and his eyes studying her intensely, every so often huffing out soft groans of his own. Soon she bent her head backwards, feeling that same familiar tight coiling in her gut happening. She knew it all too well, and while her right hand continued on desperately, her left hand gripped the bed sheets tightly. Her eyes rolled backwards into her head, only the white showing. He was pleased with the reaction and watched eagerly as she began to clench and spasm around him. Her hips pulling away only slightly. He slowed his thrusts for only a moment to readjust. 

     “Another or...?” he asked, sweat running down his chest, he panted as he spoke. She shook her head, opening her arms, gesturing for him to lay directly on her. She pulled his face to hers and wrapped her legs around him, locking them over his shoulders. She moaned into the kiss as he unabashedly pounded into her. He broke the kiss and pushed his head into her neck, moaning into her ear. She clung to him desperately, her nails digging into his back and her legs tightly holding on. He grunted in her ear as his pounding became more erratic for only a moment, his hips stuttering before coming to a slow. She felt him go limp against her, and she couldn't help herself but to nuzzle into his neck, panting in his ear as she did so. She peppered kisses along his neck and to his ear, moaning with the after effects, unable to stop herself. Her legs relaxed and began to slip off of his sweaty shoulders. He regained himself slightly but relaxed against her, not bothering to pull out but letting nature do the work for him. He kissed her on her cheek, running his left hand down her right thigh and lightly spanking her backside. She writhed under him for that, a smile plastered across her face. He sat up and pressed his forehead to hers, kissing her on the lips again. 

     “I love you,” He whispered heatedly, earnestly, against her lips. “I love you,” he said again, kissing her again and again. She hummed into the kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled him against her, feeling his sweaty body against her own. Finally she pulled back from him and pressed her forehead to his. 

     “Are you going to get a new assistant now? Or do you want me to get you your coffee every morning?” She smiled playfully at him, her cheeks turning pink as she asked. He laughed, and it was a deep, rich sound. He kissed her once more for good measure. 

     “If you’re willing, I’d rather have you do it.” He smiled at her. “After all, you know how I take my coffee.” She smiled back at him. 

     “I do, that's true,” she said, still catching her breath. He slid off of her and laid down next to her. She turned onto her side, looking at him as she curled up and pushed her face under his chin. He put his arm around her and pulled her against him. It wasn’t long before the silence of the room was punctuated by soft snores. Ellinor didn’t have to look up, she knew what that meant. She ran her hand through his chest hair as she, too, began to fall asleep. As her eyes shut, and her hand stilled, she idly wondered about the path that brought her here to this moment, in his arms. But the thought was soon lost to her, as she succumbed to sleep on that large, comfortable bed, against this other person she never thought she’d find. 


	34. Epilogue

_Sweden_

_June 6th, 2006_

_3:33 AM_

 

     Alphas footfalls could be heard echoing throughout the stone hallways. He walked swiftly around the compound, swooshing this way and that, engaged with his nightly security prowl. He had scoured the library and the archive and down through the hedge maze and the gardens. Though, to be fair, nothing was amiss. Everyone was asleep in their beds, even his most prized human was asleep soundly upstairs, snug in their quarters. That gave him peace of mind as he patrolled the corridors this late at night. He did have a reason for being out so late though: after all, he was expected. Alpha hated meeting with him like this, and most of all Alpha hated how cryptic his brother had become. Walking down level after level, he finally reached the kitchens, which were dark and cold at this time of night, though soon enough they would become a bustling, warm place once again. He sighed as he stood in the doorway. 

     “Brother!” Omegas voice boomed from the other side of the kitchen. He had a fork in his hand and he was leaning over the counter, eating the rest of, what appeared to be, cake. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Alpha sighed and walked over, hands clasped behind his back. He loomed over the younger Ghoul for only a moment. 

     “Yes, well, I have duties to attend to, brother. It would do you well to remember.” He snatched the fork from his brothers hand and walked it over to the sink, placing it in the deep stainless steel pit quietly. Omega turned around and reached for a paper towel, wiping his mouth off and laying the towel on the counter in a crumpled heap. Alpha sighed and picked it up and threw it out, rolling his eyes behind his mask as he did so. 

     “Ever the nurse maid, brother.” Omega whispered in an upbeat tone. Alpha glared at his younger sibling for a moment. 

     “What brings you here?” Alpha asked as he turned to the sink and rinsed his hands off. Omega walked around the kitchen, his arms open as he spoke.

     “What? I can’t come up and see my brother? See how he’s doing, what his life is like up here on the surface?” He turned around on his heel, his hands no tightly clasped behind his back. “Ask him how his human is? You wound me, brother.” Alpha glared at Omega from behind his mask. Behind his own mask, Omega’s grin widened. 

     “What brings you here?” Alpha’s voice was clipped and tight as he asked once more. His teeth were beginning to grind together. Omega simply laughed and held his hands up in mock defeat. 

     “I meant no offense! I simply asked a simple question, expecting a simple answer. But, no matter.” He grinned behind his mask. Alpha quietly fumed, standing stock still. His hands still clasped tightly behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart and his back ramrod straight. His tail wrapped itself around his ankle and he waited. The two Ghouls stared at one another for a long moment before Alpha spoke. 

     “So, it has been many years since you left. I will inquire once more: what brings you here?” He asked sternly and quietly. They both surveyed one another for a long moment; the silence of the kitchen was all encompassing. Omega took several hesitant steps forward, looking straight ahead at his brother. 

     “I’ve come to warn you.” His voice was a deadly serious rumble; it cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter. Alpha tilted his head. 

     “Warn me? Of what? From what, rather?” He chuckled lightly, sarcastically almost, as he asked. Omega shook his head. 

     “This is no laughing matter, brother. I have become aware of some knowledge, perhaps it errs more on the side of rumor, but it was spoken of enough that I felt you should know about it.” Omega walked closer still, dragging a gloved hand along the beautiful stone counter top of the kitchen. Alpha watched him closely. He noticed how his brother had changed since he’d left and descended into the depths: his horns were now more visible and tangible, his tail was stronger somehow and longer perhaps. He seemed more demon now then he ever had before. 

     “What is it, Omega? Tell me. I do not have time for dilly dallying.” Alphas words were cutting and sharp and as soon as they were out of his mouth he regretted them; wincing behind his mask. He was still bitter it would seem. His mind flying back to years prior when they were working together. When his brother worked by his side and not hidden away in the depths below, operating in secrecy. But Omega had always been more faithful to the Old One, he had always believed in something greater and more powerful. Alpha watched as Omega turned around and faced the fireplace behind him for the briefest of moments, as if the Old One himself would jump out.

     “There’s something coming.” Omega shook his head as he spoke. “I don't know when and I don’t know how or in what form, even. But it is coming and it is an end and a beginning.” Alpha rolled his eyes behind his mask and turned on his heel, beginning to pace the kitchen. 

     “Speaking in riddles once more, I see. Why did you bother to come up here to tell me this, brother?” He walked around and around the center island in the kitchen, his shoes falling sharply onto the stone. 

     “Because everything that you’ve ever known will change. Everything will shift. The dynamics will be pulled apart at the seams and the people you’ve come to know, well…” Omega let his words trail off before shrugging indifferently. “But as I said, it is only a snippet of a rumor that I happened to have overheard. Though I must say, the Old One has been busy. He’s trying to fix things, I think. Especially now.” Omega’s voice softened as he spoke, his eyes downcast to the floor and his brow furrowed: his tail swishing behind him. Alpha stopped his pacing just in front of his brother. He squinted, his eyes becoming deadly daggers in the dark. 

     “Is it an illness? A plague, like before?” He asked. Omega shook his head. 

     “No, not a plague. Though, it is something that will come from the outside world. It will shed light onto dark places. It will ask questions that need to be asked and...” He drew in a sharp breath, clapping his brother on the shoulder with a firm grip. “it will encourage and nurture something. Shaping it into what it was always meant to be.” He fell silent for a long moment, his eyes still downcast to the floor. Finally he looked directly at his brother, their eyes meeting. “And you must see to it that it does.” Alpha pulled away, turning his back on the other Ghoul; his tail flung itself back and forth menacingly. 

     “How am I supposed to do that if I don't know what to look for? How am I supposed to help something if I don’t even know what it is that I’m helping?” His words were harsh and his teeth ground together tightly. Omega simply shrugged once more. 

     “I am not fully aware of the plans of the Old One, brother. I can only warn you with what I know. But know this: something _is_ coming and it will enter from the outside world. It will move the very foundation that this congregation rests upon.” Omegas eyes were wide and bright behind his mask. Alpha drew in a deep breath. 

     “You have to give me more to go on than just these cryptic messages!” Alpha said, his voice rising in tone. Omega chuckled darkly, his arms crossing over his chest. 

     “You say that as if I can give you anything else besides cryptic messages, brother.” He flashed a knowing smile behind his mask. Alpha sighed, clasping his hands tightly behind his back once more; his fingers digging into his forearms.

     “Do you know what this...thing...is going to nurture? Do you know anything concrete at all?” His voice was tight and he was admittedly, frustrated. He grown to hate riddles. Omega simply shrugged. 

     “I only know that it is coming and that the Old One has planned this for some time. Something is coming from the outside world and it will nurture something that is already within these walls. But I have no specifics.” Alpha turned away from the other Ghoul, his tail swished angrily and he felt his ire rise. 

     “This is ridiculous, all these messages and secretive codes! How in the world am I supposed to watch for something when I don't even know what to look for? You did this once before, I’ll have you know, with Papa Emeritus the Second and that Bond Servant. You just kept saying, ‘it’s a plan of the Old One, Alpha!’ well now here’s another plan and I still don’t know what’s going on and yet here you are telling me-” his rage having risen to the boiling point, he turned around to face his brother, but stopped abruptly. The words were frozen in his throat. 

     Omega was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats the end of that! For now, anyway. The third, and final, installment in the Temporis series will out in January. Thank you all so much for putting up with my horrible update schedule and thank you so much for sticking around. I hope you enjoy how everything ties up in the end. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


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